


Past Tense

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Pre-Slash, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone Jim knew from the past arrives in town with a pregnant wife, a price on his head, and nowhere else to turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Tense

## Past Tense

by Daydreamer

Author's website:  <http://www.geocities.com/daydreamersden>

Not mine. They belong to the legal owners and I am just borrowing them. No money changed hands.   


Thank you, Betas! You are the best!

Story involves male rape - be warned!

* * *

The phone rang and Jim lifted it, barking "Ellison." Blair watched as first puzzlement and then a look of concern crossed his face. 

"Adam," he said quietly. "It's been a long time. How are you?" 

Adam. Blair was wracking his brain, trying to place the name, but he came up blank. 

"Tonight?" Jim paused and looked at Blair. "Company for dinner okay with you, Chief?" 

More than a little curious, Blair nodded immediately. At least he'd be finding out who this Adam was. Jim gave directions to the loft and then he said good-bye and dropped the phone slowly. 

"So," said Blair, "that was Adam." 

Jim nodded absently, lost in thought. 

"That would be Adam ...?" 

No response. 

"Jim? Adam who?" 

"What? Oh ..." Jim took a moment and stared at his Guide, then said, "Let's take a walk, Chief." 

Blair bounced up and headed for the door without a word. Jim wasn't usually this willing to talk about what was on his mind, and he wasn't going to let the older man have any time to reconsider. 

Jim sighed, grabbed the younger man's jacket and followed with a rueful smile on his face. 

Blair waited on the steps of the station house, rubbing his hands together against the cold, and he dragged on his jacket gratefully when Jim thrust it out. 

"So, Jim, buddy -- who's Adam?" 

"Guy I knew in the army." 

"You were friends?" 

Ellison shook his head slowly. "No, not really." 

Blair was silent for a moment as the two men walked, then he said, "I don't get it, man. You're not friends, but you invite the guy over? What's going on?" 

Jim sighed in the cool morning air. "It's a long story." 

"No classes today, man. I got time." Blair shivered slightly and Jim finally focused on his partner. 

He steered the other man toward a small diner. "All right. Let's get you out of the cold, Frosty, and I'll tell you a story." 

"Story. Cool. I love stories." Blair was rubbing his hands together again, this time like an excited child, and Jim couldn't help but laugh as he gently shoved the younger man through the door. 

* * *

"This was before Peru, before any of the, you know ..." Jim waved his hand loosely in the air. "Sense stuff." 

Blair nodded, then thanked the waitress as she filled his cup with steaming coffee. 

"My Special Ops unit was actually doing an internal on another group." He sighed, obviously discomfited by the memory. "Guess it was my first foray into police work. Anyway, we suspected this other outfit of weapons smuggling." Jim looked up and smiled ruefully. "I'm sure this will come as a surprise to you, but the Army actually has quite a few weapons." 

"No!" Blair exclaimed in mock surprise. 

"And unfortunately, they don't always keep the best records." 

"Now that doesn't surprise me either," Blair said. "Scares me, though." 

Jim was staring at the dark liquid in his cup, watching the steam swirl lazily above the rim. 

"You want something with that, Jim? A donut or something?" 

Ellison looked up. "You offering me junk food, Chief?" He looked around, obviously searching for something. 

"What?" Blair asked. "What're you looking for?" 

"Calendar," Jim said shortly. "Must be a holiday if you're offering junk food, and I don't wanna miss it." 

"Oh, fine," Blair said petulantly, playing along with his friend. "Never again, man. Try and do something nice and see what happens. Ridicule and disbelief. Well, let me tell you, it's tofu burgers and algae shakes from here on out, man. You've sealed your fate." 

Jim laughed and signaled the waitress. "Two bear claws," he ordered, and laughed again when he saw the look of lust on Blair's face. 

"Tell me about the guns, Jim," Blair said quietly when the pastries were in front of them. He picked at his, breaking it off in pieces and swallowing them almost whole. "God, I love these things." 

"I know," Jim said as he took a bite of his own. "Guns. Adam. The Army." He sighed heavily. "It's a mess." 

"Short version then," Blair said around a mouth full of pastry. "Flesh it out later." 

Jim nodded. "Short version. The other unit was stealing the weapons. Degnan -- Adam -- was newly assigned to them. He didn't want to play. They almost killed him. He'd be dead if it hadn't happened the night we planned the raid. We caught them before they could finish. As it was, he took a hell of a beating." 

"And you know him how?" 

"There were court-martials. The whole unit went down. Degnan testified against them. But there were others involved we hadn't thought about. The customers. They came after Degnan, convinced he knew where the guns were stashed." He looked at Blair as he drained his cup and held it up for a refill. "He didn't, but it made things impossible for him. I don't know why he didn't just change his name and settle somewhere but from what I've heard, he's been sorta nomadic ever since." 

Jim took one swallow from his now full cup, looked at the crumbs on both their plates and asked, "You ready?" When Blair nodded, he threw a five on the table and rose, walking swiftly to the door. 

"Uh, Jim?" Blair asked breathlessly, when he finally caught up with him halfway down the block. "You still haven't told me why this guy is calling you." 

"They're after him again. He's married, wife's pregnant, and he just got a real scare put into him. Several of the guys from the old unit are out, and they've said they're coming after him." 

"So, why's he calling you?" 

"I'm the one that found him last time, got him out before they beat him to death. I'm also the one that proved he didn't know what was going on, and wasn't involved." 

"Ah," Blair said quietly, "I see now." 

Jim stopped abruptly, fixing the smaller man with a steely stare. "See what, Sandburg?" he growled. 

"I see why he's coming to you." 

Jim lifted an eyebrow. 

"You're his hero, too." 

* * *

"There were six in the unit -- Grant Holcombe, Trevor Mitchell, Gates Jenkins, Gerry Anderson, Andre Tucker. And, of course, Degnan." 

Blair sat at the computer, fingers poised. "You want me to run them all?" 

Jim shook his head. "Not necessary. At court-martial, Holcombe and Jenkins were shown to be the ringleaders -- they took the bigger fall. They both went down for treason, punishable by death." 

"Are they ...?" the younger man asked quietly. 

"Not to my knowledge. I think there are still appeals pending, some of which have to do with the missing weapons." 

"So you're thinking only Mitchell, Anderson, or Tucker would be responsible for the threats?" 

Jim nodded. "They each got 15 years for theft of government property." 

"And they're out now?" Blair's nimble fingers danced across the keyboard. 

"From what Degnan said, he's had calls, letters, even a couple of notes left on his car, telling him that he'd regret his testimony." Jim stretched, hands at his back as he arched in an attempt to relieve the tension of leaning over Sandburg's shoulder to see the screen. 

Blair hit 'enter,' and sat back to wait as his inquiry skittered off through cyberspace. "I still don't understand what these guys want with your friend." He looked up in time to see Jim wince at the word 'friend,' and hastily amended it with, "...with Degnan." 

"There was some controversy -- part of why Degnan thinks he owes me so much. Two shipments of weapons disappeared on his watch -- when he was the only one with access. Mitchell and Anderson were convinced Degnan had gone out on his own." 

"But you're not?" Blair moved the mouse, keeping the screen saver from kicking in. 

"I know he wasn't involved. I did all the legwork to clear him. He was there that night, but there was a second door to Weapons Storage and Holcombe and Jenkins both had keys. Even without keys, someone determined could have gotten in." 

"Wasn't that the point of standing watch?" Blair looked up with a teasing smile on his face. "Isn't that what you guys do? March back and forth and prevent unauthorized entry?" His smile blossomed to a grin as he watched Jim unconsciously straighten up into a more rigid posture. Just talking about his military time had that effect on the Sentinel. 

"Well, yeah, that is part of standing watch. But you don't question the CO." Ellison shrugged. "Holcombe could have come in; so could the XO, Jenkins." 

"And Degnan doesn't remember this?" 

"He doesn't remember anyone hauling the boxes of weapons out, no." Jim scratched his head as he looked at his partner. 

"So, Jim, about these weapons ..." Blair began. He was interrupted as the computer sputtered to life and confirmation that Mitchell, Anderson, and Tucker had, indeed, been released splashed across the screen. 

Jim read the report quickly, then grunted in acknowledgement. "You were saying?" he prompted the younger man. 

"Aren't guns from 15 years ago a little out of date?" 

"Not to some of the third world nations we suspect Holcombe was dealing with." Ellison lowered his voice. "And it wasn't all guns. There were some anti-personnel mines and other more classified items that went missing." 

Blair nodded. "So there's reason for these guys to want to know where the stuff is? It's worth something?" 

It was Jim's turn to nod. "And these guys, Mitchell, Anderson, and Tucker? They're naive enough to think that their CO and XO would steal the other stuff but not this? And that Degnan, the one who testified against them, would?" 

"Holcombe tried hard to pin it all on Adam. And he might have succeeded. There was a strong circumstantial trail that led right to Degnan. The fact that he was so new to the unit and he was of fairly low rank -- a Lieutenant -- were major dissuading factors when we were trying to convince the tribunal that he wasn't guilty." Jim paused a moment, lost in the past. "And the fact that the other guys were beating the shit out of him when we raided the warehouse -- that carried some weight as well." 

Blair gave a half-smile. "Glad to know the Army places value on a good beating ..." 

Jim cuffed him lightly, smiling back. 

"What do you think is going on, Jim?" Blair asked. 

"One of two things has happened. Holcombe and Jenkins came up with some sort of plan -- God knows they've had time to work on it -- and the unholy trio are implementing it." 

"Or they're working on their own -- looking for the weapons as a way to make a quick buck." 

"You got it," Ellison said grimly. "Or," he paused as a third alternative presented itself, "there's a third party orchestrating all of it. Maybe one of Holcombe's old contacts. They found out the boys are out and know the goods are still up for grabs. Put on a little pressure to produce, and any one of our three could have decided to come down on Degnan." 

"What's next?" Blair's fingers were poised again, ready to type as Jim spoke. 

"DMV. Social Security. IRS. Anywhere these guys may have registered. We need to know where they are and what they're doing." 

* * *

A sharp rap on the door announced their visitors' arrival. Jim crossed the loft floor and opened the door. "Degnan. Long time no see." 

Adam Degnan reached out and shook the offered hand. He held on tightly for a moment and then stepped away. Behind him stood a beautiful, very pregnant, dark-haired woman. "Jim, this is my wife, Marie." 

"Hello, Marie. Nice to meet you." He was slightly shocked when she reached out and hugged him. Jim stared at her for a moment. "Have we met?" 

She laughed lightly. "No, but you looked like you could use a hug." 

"Oh, yes. Marie? Adam? Come on in." He turned them towards the kitchen, where Blair was wiping his hands on a towel. "This is my partner, Blair Sandburg." 

Blair walked toward them and shook both Adam and Marie's hands. "Hi, I'm glad to meet you." 

"Come on, sit down." Jim led them into the living room. 

"Actually, could you point me to the bathroom? These days I can't wait very long ..." 

"Oh, yes, of course." Blair led Marie to the bathroom and then came back and sat beside Jim in the loveseat. 

Jim lowered his voice. "How long have you and Marie ...?" 

Degnan smiled. "Marie and I, we've been married almost two years now." 

"Hey, that's great. Just great. Congratulations. I'd heard you'd been traveling a lot. Glad you finally settled down. And when's the baby due?" 

"Baby's due within a couple of weeks. Which I've been told translates to any day now." His eyes sought the closed bathroom door and he smiled. "She's going to be a great mom." He dropped his head for a minute, then lifted it to meet Jim's eyes. "Look, Ellison, she doesn't know what's going on. I told her we were old friends." 

"What does she think you're doing in Cascade?" 

"I told her I wanted to settle here. I got an offer on a job." He turned his head as Marie approached and smiled and held out his hand. She grasped it as she lowered herself next to him onto the couch. 

"What's the job? Are you going to take it?" Jim asked. 

"A buddy of mine's opened up a climbing school. He's doing really well and if I take the job, I'll be one of his instructors." 

"Well, that sounds like quite a gig. Be a change from what you were doing?" Jim asked. 

"Yeah, but it'll be good for both of us and the baby. Something normal. The other thing..." Degnan became quiet. "Marie's been wonderful about my wanderlust, following me all over the damn country for two years and living on minimum wage when we could get it. Now with the baby on the way ... we've got too much to lose. We both just want some stability. Guess I've moved around enough." 

Marie nodded. "And Adam will be happy doing this. He'll keep decent hours and we'll be able to spend more quality time together. I'll probably stay home with the baby for the first couple of years. We can do that and still be comfortable. And of course, it will give Adam a chance to be near his old friend." She laughed again, smiling as she looked at her husband. 

"Great. Good. Glad to hear that." Jim ran his hand through his hair. "It'll be, uh, good to have you two nearby. We can always use more friends nearby, right, Chief?" 

Blair watched his partner closely, acutely aware of how uncomfortable he was with all this. Marie seemed aware of it as well, and her smile faltered a bit. But Blair jumped in gamely. "Of course. We're glad you came by tonight." He smiled. "So, do you know what you're having yet?" He nodded at Marie's rounded belly. 

"Um, no. We thought about it and weren't in any hurry to know. Although, people are always guessing." 

Without thinking, Jim rose and moved to her, his hand reaching out toward her belly. When he realized what he was doing, he froze and stepped back awkwardly. "Sorry," he mumbled. 

"It's okay, Jim." Marie smiled at him and reached out and took his hand. "Here. Feel that?" 

Jim nodded, the look on his face the closest to shyness that Blair had ever seen. He knelt at Marie's feet. Blair could see that Jim was concentrating, sending his sense of touch and hearing beneath Marie's shirt and layers of skin and muscle. 

Jim focused, zeroing in on the sounds and movements inside the woman. He could hear Blair and Adam murmur in the distance but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He was fascinated by what he felt and heard in Marie's abdomen. A tiny, rapid heartbeat; fluids displaced by the movement of the baby's limbs; a sense of how small the life was; it all came together to form an image in Jim's mind. Precious. Their baby was so precious. He could listen to the baby all night. 

He looked up at Marie and found her looking down at him in rapt attention. Her eyes smiled at him. "What is it, Jim?" she whispered. "What are you hearing?" 

Jim put his other hand on her belly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. She knew. She suspected something. But Jim felt no threat from her. She seemed just as fascinated by Jim as he was by the baby. 

Blair and Adam's conversation dropped off as they became aware of the whispers coming from Marie. 

"Jim," she whispered again, "what is it? What are we having? Can you tell?" 

Eyes still locked with Marie's, his face flushed, Jim whispered. "A girl. You're having a girl." 

"What? How do you know that?" Adam asked but Marie stilled his words by placing her hand on top of his. 

"Jim knows," Marie said. "He just does." She just seemed to accept it and didn't ask any questions about how, intuiting how much faith Jim placed in them by admitting that he knew and that he would be extremely uncomfortable with further questions. 

Adam deferred to Marie's judgment and didn't ask questions; just watched as Jim's eyes drifted closed, both of his hands still on his wife's stomach. 

He looked at Blair questioningly and after a couple of minutes, Blair spoke softly. "Jim? Hey, buddy, come on back." He leaned forward and touched Jim's shoulder briefly and Jim's eyes flew open. "We've got company." Jim blinked for a moment and his hands flew off Marie's belly as he realized what he was still doing. 

"I'm sorry." 

"It's okay, Jim." Marie touched his hand. "Thank you for caring so much." 

"I ..." He looked at Blair, shaken. Not sure what had led him to reveal so much of himself. Blair seemed at a loss himself, but not uncomfortable or overly concerned. 

Marie stroked Jim's shoulder. "It's all right, Jim. We're not going to ask any questions or say anything. You just have a gift, I think. And we're pleased that you chose to share it with us." She looked at Adam and he nodded at her. 

"How did you ...?" Jim stopped short and looked right into her eyes. "You're an extraordinary person." 

She laughed. "Thanks, but Adam can tell you some stories that might just change your mind." 

The laugh seemed to shake Jim out of whatever mood he was in and he stood. Embarrassed, ready to change the subject and get the attention off himself, he asked, "So are we ready for dinner? Blair made his specialty -- vegetarian lasagna." 

* * *

"That was wonderful, Blair!" Marie leaned back and delicately patted her tummy. "I'm sorry I couldn't eat more." She grinned up at the anthropologist. "There's just not a lot of storage space available in there at the moment. Even for something as delicious as your lasagna." 

"You want anything else, babe?" Adam asked. "A drink, something sweet?" 

"Ooooh," Marie giggled slightly. "Something sweet." She blushed and looked down at her abdomen. "Our little lady might enjoy some ice cream. I mean, if you have any, and if it's not too much trouble." 

"No trouble at all," Blair said with a bow. "None in the house, but we can run down to the market real quick ..." 

"Heavens no," Marie said quickly. "There is no way I am going to let you make a trip to the store for me." She blushed. "I'm sorry I said anything." 

"Don't be," Adam said quickly as he knelt before his wife and took her hand. "Jim and Blair don't mind." He looked up. "Do you guys?" 

"Not at all," said Jim. "I wouldn't mind some ice cream myself." 

"Look, Marie," Adam began when he saw she was still uncomfortable, "why don't you and Jim stay here? I'll get Blair to go with me, so I don't get lost, and we'll be back in no time at all." 

"It's a done deal, man," Blair said as he grabbed his jacket from his room and followed Degnan to the door. "You guys can talk about the baby," he called back over his shoulder as the door shut behind him. 

"So, Blair," Adam said as he unlocked the car. "Ellison tell you about me?" 

Blair nodded. "You want to tell me about it?" 

"Not much to tell. I could be dead, wasn't for Jim Ellison." 

Blair cleared his throat. "You think a lot of him." 

Degnan laughed. "Oh, yeah." He looked over at Blair. "Don't feel uncomfortable. I know he doesn't feel that way about me." 

"You wanna tell me why?" 

Degnan shrugged. "After I got out, Ellison must have set me up with half a dozen jobs, all over the county. I don't know what he had to do, who he had to reach out to, but he must have exhausted every contact he had." The man reached up and wiped his face. "Every time I surfaced, there'd be somebody there offering me a job, telling me Jim Ellison set it up." The flush on Degnan's face was visible under the streetlight as he parked outside the market. "And I just kept fucking it up." He shook his head. "But Ellison wouldn't quit. It took me almost three years to drive him away." 

"Jim doesn't give up easily." Blair waited as Degnan locked the car then they walked toward the store. "Why'd you give him such a hard time, if all he wanted to do was help?" 

Degnan ran his hand over his face, then pushed the door open and entered the brightly lit store. The contrast from night to light was shocking and both men blinked. "Damned if I know. I just know there wasn't something right with me for a long time. Maybe that beating I took messed me up more than I knew. Or having to give up the Army, the only career I'd ever thought about. I just don't know." He stopped in the aisle, turning to stare at Blair. "All I know is, Marie put me together again. She saw something in me that was worthwhile. And I'm not going to let anything threaten her -- or our child." He swallowed hard. "And I know that if anyone can protect her -- it's Jim Ellison." 

**PART TWO**

Marie watched from her seat at the table as Jim finished the last dish. She'd offered to help, but had been firmly told 'no' and so she had compromised by keeping the clean-up crew company. 

She'd told him about any number of mundane things, the move to Cascade, how she'd met Adam, her degree in History and her hopes to someday teach. And he'd talked about joining the force after the Army, how he'd come to have his police observer partner for a roommate, and why he missed meat in his lasagna but tolerated it for Blair. 

They'd talked about everything but the important things. And Marie was tired of the small talk. "So, Jim," she said quietly as he placed a cup of tea before her, "why don't you like Adam?" 

The big detective choked on his coffee, hot liquid spluttering out of his mouth as he rose and moved to the sink. The front of his shirt was dark from the coffee, and it burned. He lifted the wet dishrag and sponged gently at the stain, then decided to excuse himself and change his shirt. 

He was upstairs, the dirty shirt stripped off as he dragged a clean one from the dresser when he heard the sound. Footsteps on the stairs outside the loft. He stilled for a moment, reaching out to listen for the familiar beat of his partner's heart, for the scent that was as well-known to him as his own, but it was not there. 

There was a knock. 

A puzzled expression on his face, he grabbed the shirt and hurried to the stairs in time to see Marie throw the door open, crying, "Adam!" She froze in the doorway as he raced down, only to find her held tight in the grip of a strange man, a knife against her belly. 

He stopped, standing motionless, as the man looked up and nodded. "Very good." 

"Anderson!" Jim recognized the man. He was one of the group of weapons thieves he'd helped catch; one of the men recently released from Leavenworth. "Let her go!" Jim could hear Marie's heart race, and beneath it, the rapid beats of the baby's heart. 

"I don't think so." He tightened his grip on Marie's arm, and she uttered a little cry. "Where's Degnan?" 

"Stop!" Jim was afraid to move, afraid to do anything. The knife was too close, pressed too hard against the fragile skin protecting the still unborn life Marie carried. He forced himself to take several deep breaths, reaching for control. He couldn't afford to make a mistake here. He already knew how dangerous Anderson could be. "What do you want?" he said in a low voice. 

"I want to know where Degnan is." 

"He'll be back any minute -- as will my partner." 

"Well, that's a shame." He pulled Marie closer, and Jim could see the pain on the woman's face. "I don't think I want to wait for them." He looked around the loft, then nodded at Jim. "Get your cuffs, Ellison," he ordered. 

Jim didn't move for a moment, weighing the odds but yet another small cry from Marie had him moving and within seconds he returned with the shiny steel held out before him. 

"Cuff yourself. Hands behind your back." 

Jim did as he was told. 

"Now," said Anderson, "we're going to walk out of here, down the stairs and get in the car." He jerked his head at Jim. "You're not going to give me any trouble or I'm going to see what brand this baby is." He punctuated his words with a quick press of the wrist and Jim could see the fabric of Marie's shirt give, and a small line of blood appeared in the gap. 

"Get in front of her," Anderson said, as he backed away slightly to allow Jim to move forward. "Now, you," he spoke to Marie, "take the cuffs in your hands and hold onto him." 

"He's going to freeze without a shirt. Please, let him get his jacket." 

Anderson shook his head. "Move." 

They passed no one on the way down and were soon at a nondescript car parked on the side of the building. With one hand still holding the knife against Marie's abdomen, Anderson opened the trunk and motioned Jim in. 

Ellison moved slowly, looking desperately for his partner, or anyone who could help, but the street was empty on this cold winter night. He climbed in the trunk as ordered, shivering in the frigid air, and shifted uncomfortably to avoid laying on his arms that were cuffed behind his back. 

Once he was inside, Anderson stared down for a moment, saying, "Do you have any idea what prison is like, Ellison? What I went through in there?" He smiled a shark-like smile as he slammed the trunk, and even without his Sentinel hearing, Jim could hear the man say, "Well, you're going to find out." 

* * *

"That's weird," Blair commented as he opened the unlocked door to the loft. "Jim's pretty insistent on keeping things locked up." He looked around the quiet room and called, "Hey, we're back! Ice cream!" 

There was no answer. 

"Jim?" Blair moved to the stairs and called again, "Jim!" 

"Bathroom?" Adam asked and Blair pointed, not surprised when Adam reappeared seconds later shaking his head. With Jim's hearing, he'd have heard them on the stairs, never mind the calling he'd done inside the loft. 

"Do you think he took her to the hospital?" Adam asked. "I mean, she's so close ..." 

Blair shook his head. "I don't think so. He'd have called me." He moved to the window and looked down. "And his truck's still there." 

Adam's face slowly morphed into a mask of fear. "Oh, dear God," he said slowly, "they've got her." 

Blair nodded grimly. "I think you might be right." He picked up the phone, punching in numbers as familiar as his own name. "And I think we need to get some help over here -- fast." 

* * *

Jim woke up slowly. He was laying face down on bare concrete and he was _cold._ His feet and knees had been taped together and he was having trouble getting enough leverage to roll himself over. He shivered violently, struggling for a last clear memory. He'd been in the trunk, and they'd driven for about 20 minutes. The car had stopped. He'd heard Marie's swift intake of air as she'd been pulled from the car. She'd begged them to release him -- she was worried he'd freeze if left in the car. 

And then there had been a sound from inside the car, and an odor, and before he'd drawn a second breath, he was out. 

Now he was awake again. His head hurt, his mind felt foggy, and his senses were spiking. Total silence one second, a loud cacophony the next. Blurred vision that shifted from too intense to grayed out. He felt numb one second, and then could feel the individual grains of sand in the concrete the next. And had he mentioned the cold? 

He shivered again, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting for control. He needed Blair. It was always easier when his Guide was there, talking him through it. But he was on his own this time, and he struggled to bring things back the way they should by himself. 

His hearing smoothed out, and he heard a voice. " ... I do?" He shifted awkwardly and was able to see Marie, leaning over and talking to him. "Jim? What can I do?" 

He tried to speak, but his voice wouldn't cooperate and his lips moved in silence. He took a moment, then swallowed hard, and tried again. "Are you okay?" 

She nodded quickly, but her hand moved protectively over her abdomen. Jim listened, counting. Marie's heartbeat was a little fast, but she was remarkably calm considering their situation. And the little one? Her heart beat steadily, the same rapid little beats that had so enraptured him earlier. As he listened, he heard the water in the womb shift, as if a wave had passed through, but it was gone as quickly as it had begun. The baby's heart continued to beat so he pushed the thought away. And then his hearing spiked and he winced painfully, closing his eyes again. 

"Jim?" Marie whispered. "I'm not sure what's happening with you, but you need to try and relax." She gave a delicate little snort, as she looked pointedly at his cuffed hands. "Can you focus on me for a bit? Just listen to me." Her hand came out and she touched him lightly, almost as if she knew his sense of touch was super-sensitized. He latched onto her voice, listening to her, but hearing Blair. "Dial it down, man. Just _see_ the dial, and turn it down." 

It took a few minutes, but things began to settle down. His hearing backed down to within norms. His vision settled and the unbearable touch of the concrete against his bare skin became tolerable. All that was left was the cold. "I'm all right," he said finally as he looked up at Marie. "What about you? Did he hurt you?" 

She shook her head slowly. "No ..." 

Jim jerked his head at the cut on her belly. "What about that? Are you sure?" 

"No, really, I'm okay. It's just ..." Again, her voice trailed away, as if she were afraid to complete the thought. 

"What?" he asked gently. 

"The baby." Marie was silent, one hand resting on her belly. "I thought I felt something, but it was different. The baby -- she hasn't moved." She looked at Jim. "Is she ...? Can you tell?" 

Jim's face went blank, his natural reaction to anything related to his Sentinel abilities, and he saw her face fall. 

"I'm sorry," she said softly, turning away. "I shouldn't have asked." 

He squirmed uncomfortably, shifting yet again on the frigid concrete. "No, it's okay," he said. "She's fine." 

"You're sure?" Marie turned back to him, her eyes pleading for reassurance. 

He nodded. "Yeah. I checked first thing. On both of you." 

"You can do that? No, never mind." Marie laughed as she looked away. "I don't want to know." Her hand traced the contours of her distended abdomen and she hummed a snippet of a lullaby as she disengaged from him for a moment and focused completely on the life she carried. Then she looked at Jim. "Do you want me to help you sit up?" She moved next to him, reaching out tentatively. "Is it all right to touch you? You've got to get off the floor." 

"Help me roll over," he said, as he pushed sideways and flopped over onto his back. "If you can just pull my shoulders a bit, I can sit up." She did and his bare torso was finally off the cold floor. "Where are we?" 

She straightened and wandered toward the door. "Some warehouse." She shrugged. "I don't know the area, so I don't know where. We were only in the car about twenty minutes, so it can't be too far away." 

"Sandburg will be looking for us. As soon as they got back and saw we weren't there, I know Sandburg. He'll have called Simon and the whole damn Cascade force will be out searching for us." He tried to smile. "And they're good. It won't take long. They'll find us." 

Marie nodded, then touched her belly. "Good. Because I want this one's dad to be around when she makes her appearance." 

"You're not ...? I mean, didn't Degnan -- Adam -- say you had a couple more weeks?" 

"Well, yes, I do have a couple more weeks." She moved to the door, pushing against it futilely. "But babies don't necessarily follow timetables." 

"I assume you've looked for a way out?" he asked as she continued to wander. 

She nodded. "He didn't tie me up, or hurt me other than this." She touched the cut on her tummy. "Guess he doesn't consider me much of a threat." 

Jim smiled up at her. "I think he's made a mistake there. You strike me as a woman who can be very threatening, when the need arises." 

She laughed again, and Jim could see why Degnan had worked so hard to straighten himself out to be with this woman. "Thanks," she said. "Though why I should care what this son of a bitch thinks of me is beyond me." 

"You find anything we can use to get this tape off my legs?" 

Marie held up her fingernails. "I just haven't started because, to be honest, I'm not sure I can get back up once I sit down. I thought I might be more use on my feet until you woke up." 

"Can you get down all right?" 

"Oh, yeah," Marie said as she dropped to her knees. Her hands came down next and she was on her hands and knees. Jim watched curiously. "I can get down, but it's not the most graceful of moves." She shifted her weight, slipping onto her hip and then rolling back until she was sitting and Jim had to laugh. Thankfully, she joined him. "See what I mean?" 

"Just get the tape off, and I'll help you back up." 

She began to pick at the tape. "Don't see how. I can't do anything about the cuffs on your hands." 

"Don't worry, I'll help you up." He shivered again; the cold had seeped into his very bones and he knew he needed to warm up fast. He was already growing tired, and he wasn't thinking as quickly as he usually did. 

"You're cold," she said, as she worked on the tape. "I looked for anything -- blanket, tarp, old rags -- anything to wrap you in, but there's nothing." 

"Doesn't matter," he said. "I'll be okay." 

She smiled. "Now how did I know you'd say that?" She had the first edge of the shiny silver tape up now, and was unwinding it around his knees. "So, while we sit here, are you going to answer my question?" 

"What question is that?" 

"Why don't you like Adam?" The first piece of tape was off, and she began to work on the edge of the next one. 

"It's not that." Jim sighed, then shivered in the cold. The shivering was growing more frequent as his body sought to create its own heat through movement. "What did Degnan tell you about me?" 

"Well, let me put it this way: what he told me led me to believe you'd call him Adam, not Degnan." She made a triumphant little sound as the next piece of tape came off. "I thought you were friends." 

"I tried to be his friend. He wouldn't let me." Jim watched her hands as she worked the last piece of tape from around his ankles. 

"He said you saved his life." 

Jim shook his head. "I was just in the right time at the right place." He studied Marie as she continued to pick at the tape. "I think you saved his life." 

She smiled as the tape came off and he was free to move his legs and feet. She shook her head as she watched him climb to his feet. "I was just in the right place at the right time." 

Jim leaned over. "Put your arms around my neck and hang on." 

She complied and he straightened, pulling her easily from the floor. "Very smooth, Detective Ellison," she said. "Thank you." 

"And thank you for getting my legs loose." He began to prowl the room, searching for a way out. He'd made the circuit three times, when he stopped and looked at Marie. She was standing still, her hands on her belly and a look of intense concentration on her face. "Everything okay?" he asked. 

"I'm not sure." She lifted eyes heavy with worry to stare at him. 

"Let me," he said, and he moved to stand in front of her. "But, Marie," he cautioned as he turned his back and let his hands rest against her abdomen, "don't let me listen too long. I can get ... lost." 

She nodded, a move he felt rather than saw and then he began to extend. The baby was there -- secure in her cocoon of fluid. That peculiar wave motion occurred again, but the baby never stirred. Her little heart beat rapidly, but Jim sensed that this was normal for one so small. There was movement, but only the slightest as she sucked her thumb in her sleep. He smiled, completely enraptured and time began to lose all meaning. 

He had no idea how long he'd been listening to the baby when he began to hear a voice. "Jim, Jim! Please, wake up!" He shook himself groggily, then gave a full body shudder as his awareness of the cold returned. 

" 'm sorry," he mumbled, and watched as she gave a sigh of relief. He shook himself and stepped away from her, somehow missing the touch of her hand on his arm, but forcing his feet to move nonetheless. "She's fine," he said, smiling as he turned around. "There's like this internal wave maker, rocking her. She's sucking her thumb and she's sleeping." 

"Sucking her thumb? You can see that?" There was a look of wonder on Marie's face. 

"Not really see," Jim muttered uncomfortably. "I can sorta hear it, feel it." 

He stepped a few more feet away, taking time to regain his control, checking his dials, and wishing his Guide were there. He turned and looked at Marie. "This man Anderson is dangerous." 

"I know," she said calmly, her hands on her belly and a soft smile on her face. "He wants something Adam doesn't have." 

"Do you know what he wants?" 

She shook her head. "I just know Adam. He doesn't have anything someone like this man would want." She looked up at Jim. "He's honest, Jim. He's a good, kind, caring, _honest_ man. He got a little lost for a while, but he's okay now. And he'd never have anything to do with someone like Anderson." 

"I know," Jim agreed. "That was what got him in trouble to begin with. He wouldn't go along with the rest of his unit's illegal activities." 

"So why is this man after him?" 

"There were several caches of weapons that were never recovered. Worth millions." Jim shrugged. "Maybe Anderson thinks Degnan knows where they are." He shook his head. He was really getting tired. It was the cold. He began to pace, anything to keep moving, to stay awake. "How long was I out, anyway?" he asked. 

Marie raised her hands, up and out, and looked at Jim blankly. "I really don't know. A couple of hours, maybe?" 

"So we've been gone about three hours." Jim kept moving. "They'll be looking by now. There'll be people on the street, canvassing. Someone had to have seen something. People don't just crawl into the trunk of a car. They'll find someone who saw it." 

"And?" 

"And they'll get a description of the car. You said yourself we didn't drive long. The cops will be out looking for the car. They'll find it, they'll find us." 

"I hope so." Marie glanced at the door. "This whole situation is frightening." 

Jim moved to stand by her, wishing yet again his hands were free. He looked into her eyes. "I know this is frightening, but we are going to get out. I promise you." 

She laughed and there was a brittle edge to it this time. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to make promises you can't keep?" 

"I'll keep this one." Jim began his pacing again, fighting to keep the shivers at bay. 

"Anderson had a bottle of scotch in the car." Marie reached around and rubbed the small of her back. "He wasn't the most pleasant person sober -- I really don't want to see him drunk." 

Jim nodded. So that accounted for where the man had disappeared to. Perhaps he'd get drunk enough to pass out and by the time he woke up, Simon and Sandburg would be here and it would all be over. 

There was a sound outside and the door opened. Anderson stood unsteadily in the doorway, a gun in his hand. 

Jim sighed. And perhaps pigs would fly. 

**PART THREE**

"And then, when we got back, they were gone," Blair raised his hands in confusion as he spoke. 

Simon narrowed his eyes and stared at Degnan. "And you have no idea what's going on?" 

"I didn't say that," the other man replied slowly. "I just said I didn't know who would have taken them." He stood and walked to the windows, looking down. "I have several theories ..." 

"Well, spit 'em out!" Simon commanded. 

"Look, I told you about the guns, about the situation when I was in the Army. Several of the guys who were in my unit were recently released from Leavenworth." 

"Names," Simon demanded. "Give me the names." 

"Gerry Anderson -- Gerald. Andre Tucker. Trevor Mitchell." 

"Locations?" 

Degnan shrugged. "Could be anywhere." His eyes were haunted as he looked at Simon. "Including Cascade. I told you I came here, not just because I had the job offer, but because I was getting these letters ... Threats to me, to my family -- as if these guys knew I was married, knew Marie was pregnant." He shook himself, closing his eyes briefly. "No names on the letters, and they were sent through one of those remailing centers, so no idea of the real origin either." He turned back to the window, watching as it began to snow. "I knew Ellison could find out -- knew he'd know what to do. But I never even had a chance to talk to him about it ..." 

Blair walked over to the anguished man and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find them," he promised. 

The door to the loft opened and Brown strode in. "Finally," he said. "Found a witness. Woman saw Jim get into the trunk of a car," he looked at this watch, "about three hours ago. Didn't think anything of it because, and I quote, 'that man is always doing the strangest things, him and his roommate, too,' end quote." 

"Description of the car?" 

"Yeah," Brown said, "and it was pretty good, too. I've already put it on the wires." He smiled grimly. "If it's still on the road, we'll find it." 

* * *

"You," Anderson pointed at Marie, "come with me." 

Jim could smell the alcohol on the man but his voice was clear and he held the gun steady. He stepped forward, standing between the woman and their abductor. "What do you want with her?" 

Anderson grinned. "Whaddaya think, Ellison? Been in Leavenworth 15 years ..." 

Marie gave a little gasp and backed away, stopping against the far wall. 

Jim lowered his voice. "Have you _looked_ at her, shithead?" 

Anderson nodded. "Doesn't bother me none." He waved the gun, and said loudly, "I said come here." 

Marie didn't move. 

Jim looked back over his shoulder. She was huddled against the wall, both hands curled around her abdomen, and she looked as if she were in pain. He turned back to Anderson. "Wouldn't you rather talk to me?" he said. "I might have some insights on where the guns are ..." 

"Insights aren't what I want right now," the man said lewdly as he rubbed his crotch. 

Jim took a deep breath and looked at the woman. Her whole focus had turned inward; she was shutting them out and concentrating solely on her child. Her hands rubbed her belly and she was humming again. He was not going to let this asshole take her from his sight. 

"You'll like my insights better than anything she could offer," he said abruptly, moving a few steps closer to the man with the gun. 

Anderson shrugged. "Nothing new for me. Prison. Fifteen years." His eyes narrowed as he stared at Jim. "And you so hot for it ..." He shrugged again. "Come on," he said, stepping back and waving Jim through the door. 

"Marie," Jim called, but there was no answer. "Marie, he tried again, "I'm coming back." 

She blew out suddenly, a 'whuff' of air, and tightened her grip on her belly. "Probably a good idea, Jim," she said softly. "Think I'm gonna need some help." 

* * *

"That's the third false alarm," Blair said in disgust. "Why the hell couldn't Mrs. Stevens have gotten more than a partial plate?" 

"We're lucky she got that," Simon said from the driver's seat. "And there are a helluva lot of more dark blue, late-model Ford Tauruses with MS in the plate than I would have imagined." 

"What do we do now?" Adam asked from the back seat. His face was pale and he had his arms wrapped around his chest, hugging himself. "What do we do?" 

Blair turned around. "She's okay, Adam," he said softly. "You know Jim. He's the Protector. He'd die before he'd let anything happen to her." And added silently to himself, 'Which is exactly what I'm afraid of.' 

* * *

He forced himself to stay conscious, not to dial everything down to the point where he would feel nothing at all. He was afraid of what would happen if he did that. 

It was hard. 

There were rough hands touching him, and then there was pain, and a wet tongue on his face, his ear, his back. Weight on his back, pain in his arms and shoulders where his hands were held behind him, beneath the man's weight. 

He fought at first, but then Anderson hit him with something on his arm, and he thought the arm was broken. It scared him and he stopped fighting. He couldn't afford to be killed, not now, not while this bastard still had the woman. 

He lay as still as possible, endurance and survival his only thought and prayed that the damage wouldn't incapacitate him. 

It was over much more quickly than he would have imagined. He'd counted, so he knew it took Anderson exactly 673 seconds, from start to finish. 

Six hundred, seventy three. 

And he had been acutely awake and aware of what happened during each of those 673 seconds. 

But he hadn't given in. 

He was still alive. 

He could still function. 

There was still hope. 

He rose when Anderson commanded it, and suffered the indignity of having the man pull up his pants, zip them, button the top button, and fix his belt. He stared at a point in space over the man's shoulder, jaw clenched, while this was occurring. 

"That arm looks bad," Anderson said as he prodded Jim from behind. 

The gun pushed into his back and he began to move. When they reached the door, Anderson pushed it open then told him to stop. 

He stopped. 

"Guess it's time for me to call Degnan," Anderson said. "Let him know I've got his wife and he can have her back when I get the guns." 

There was a fumbling at his wrist, and the cuffs were off, and he was being shoved through the door and falling onto the floor as the door slammed behind him. He tried, but he couldn't stop the short gasp of pain that escaped as he fell on the broken arm. 

"Jim!" Marie exclaimed as he fell. 

He looked up through a haze of pain and saw her still by the far wall, but sitting on the floor now. She was panting, and he could see the pain on her face as she was suddenly convulsed by a contraction. 

Oh, God, no! Not this! He looked around frantically for anything to help with the birth. He had no blankets, no towels, nothing of any kinds. 

He turned and pounded on the door. "Anderson! Anderson!" He kept pounding and screaming and was soon rewarded with a gun in his face. He pointed at Marie. "Baby -- now." 

Anderson shrugged. 

"Give me a blanket, something. Please, you son of a bitch!" 

The door shut and Jim groaned. He looked back at Marie. Her face was bathed in sweat and she was once again in the grip of a contraction. He could see her jaw work as she fought to keep from crying out. She breathed hard through her teeth, and when the pain eased, she looked up at him. "It's gonna be soon, Jim. I'm starting to feel like I need to push." 

"Don't push," he ordered, his medical training kicking in. He was starting to take his pants off -- he had to have something to wrap the baby in -- when the door opened again. 

Anderson looked at him and laughed. "Just couldn't get enough, eh Ellison?" He shoved two blankets through the door and was gone. 

Jim felt the rush of heat to his face, shoved the emotion aside, and grabbed the blankets. Working with just one hand, one arm, he helped Marie rise, remove her pants, and then lowered her again to the floor, now covered with a blanket. 

"Have to push!" she panted. 

"Not yet." He pushed her legs up, and then looked. The head was crowning. "Wait for the next one, Marie," he told her. "You can push then." 

She nodded. Her hair was plastered to her face, and sweat dripped down her cheeks. Her eyes closed in pain as she dug her fingers into the blanket and clenched her teeth. "Now," she breathed, and began to push. 

"Good," Jim said as he watched the baby move forward. "Again." He held his broken left arm to his chest, and touched the baby's head with his right. "Head's out. Push again -- hard. You need to get the shoulders through." 

She drew a deep breath and groaned as she began to push again. 

The shoulders emerged, and Jim grasped the slippery baby and pulled, frantic that he wasn't doing this right, that he'd drop her, that he couldn't support the head with just one hand. Somehow, he managed to get the baby out and he tugged her away from Marie's body, gaining some play in the cord, then laid her on her mother's stomach. 

He rubbed her feet and she began to cry, clearing her lungs. The sound was music to his ears. "You okay?" he asked the new mother softly. 

She nodded. "She's beautiful." 

Jim looked at the wet, bloody, squalling little creature and sighed. "Yeah, she is." 

He lifted Marie's pants and managed to wrap the baby with them, then covered them both with the other blanket Anderson had provided. 

"What now?" Marie asked, her eyes threatening to close as exhaustion overtook her. 

Jim looked around the room. "We've got to get you to the hospital." 

There was a sound at the door and he moved quickly to stand behind it. He pulled the belt from his pants, fashioned a loop with one-hand, and waited. When the door opened this time, he was ready. 

He slammed the door shut, then yanked it open, dropping the noose he'd made around the neck of -- Simon! 

"For Christ's sake, Ellison! Get this thing off me!" 

"Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir." Jim dropped the belt as Adam raced past them to go to his wife. 

"What's the situation, Ellison?" 

Blair slipped through the doorway and moved to stand by his Sentinel. "His arm's broken, Simon," he said as he ran a gentle hand along the injured arm. 

"I'm all right," Jim said, shaking off Blair's touch. He ignored the hurt look on the younger man's face. "She needs to get to a hospital." 

"The baby?" 

"They're both okay, but I haven't delivered the placenta, and she's bleeding. Couldn't cut the cord, either." 

"Paramedics are on their way." Simon looked around the room. "You okay here, til they come?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine, Simon." 

Blair snorted and reached out to touch Jim again, but the older man dodged and backed away. Once again, he ignored the look of confusion on Sandburg's face. 

"Did you get Anderson?" Jim asked through clenched teeth. 

Simon shook his head. "The car was still out front -- that's how we found you -- but no one else is here." 

Jim shivered and Blair skinned out of his jacket, slipping it over the bigger man's shoulder. 

"Thanks, Chief," Jim said as he once again backed away from Blair's touch. 

There were sirens from the outside and soon the room was filled with paramedics. Marie was lifted to a gurney. The baby's cord was cut, the afterbirth delivered, and the cleaned and swaddled baby girl was placed in her mother's arms while her father looked on adoringly. 

Marie looked up at Jim as the gurney rolled by. "Thank you," she whispered and he smiled. 

Once his charge was safely in the ambulance, Jim allowed himself to sit and to let the paramedics look at his arm. He made no mention of any other injuries. 

"It's definitely broken," the medic said. "We'll stabilize it and they'll set it at the hospital." He looked at the big man. "I know you, Ellison," he said with a laugh. "I'm not even going to try and convince you to let us transport you. You can go with your partner there." 

Blair laughed as well, saying, "See, Jim. Even the paramedics know what you're like." He looked at the EMT. "I'll take him right away," he promised as he reached out to touch Jim's shoulder. 

Jim jumped and skittered out of reach, then flushed and looked down. "No, Sandburg, that's okay. I, uh, think Simon needs you here." He stared at the ground as he began to walk toward the ambulance. "I'll just go with these guys and you can pick me up later." He slid Blair's jacket from his shoulders and held it out to the younger man. "Here. You take this." 

Blair planted both feet firmly and stared at the bigger man. "What the hell's going on here, Jim?" 

Ignoring the larger question, Ellison replied, "I just don't want you to be cold while you're here on the scene." He forced a smile for the younger man, then headed for the waiting ambulance. "You coming?" he asked when the paramedics didn't move, and was rewarded with the sight of the two of them scrambling after him. He refused to look at his partner, but in his mind, he could still see the hurt and rejection on the younger man's face. 

As he walked out, Adam ran up. "You okay, Ellison?" 

Jim nodded. 

" 'cause Marie, she's like convinced that you got hurt worse than that arm." He pointed at the sling. "Says she's not going anywhere until she talks to you." 

Jim nodded again and changed direction, tramping bare-chested through the new fallen snow to stop at the second ambulance. "I'm fine, Marie," he said wearily. 

"Leave us alone a minute, Adam," the woman asked. When her husband had withdrawn a discreet distance, she looked at Jim and said, "You are not fine. Jim, you have to tell them." 

"Nothing happened, Marie." 

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, but she said nothing. 

"You weren't there. Nothing happened," he repeated. 

"Stop, Jim," she said softly. "I won't say anything if you insist. But you need to be checked." 

He nodded slowly. "I know. I'll talk to the doctor at the ER. But Marie, this is _my_ problem, and I am asking you to respect my privacy." 

"You need to talk to someone, Jim." 

"My problem, Marie. I'll handle it my way." He forced a smile to take the sting from the words. "You have more important things to worry about now." He nodded at the baby cradled in her arms. "Like taking care of that little one, and her dad." He met her eyes with determination. "I'm going to be all right." 

She reached for him, eyes narrowing as he avoided her touch without realizing he was doing it. "Thank you, Jim, for going with him. Thank you for my baby." She smiled as her eyes filled with tears. "Thank you for my life." 

* * *

Blair was waiting at the hospital when the ambulance arrived. Jim walked in, saw him, and sighed. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. 

"Hey, man, what's the idea of ditching me?" the younger man asked teasingly. "You know we always go to the hospital together. It's like, a tradition." 

Jim gave a half-smile. "Sorry, Sandburg," he said shortly. "Things were a little confusing back there." 

"Just wanted to know you're okay." 

Blair moved forward and Jim knew another touch was coming, but he was saved when a nurse called his name. He veered away, saying, "My table's ready." He stopped, carefully out of reach of his tactile Guide, and added, "Thanks for coming." 

"No problem, man," Sandburg said in bewilderment, as the Sentinel disappeared behind the double doors of the ER. 

* * *

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," Jim hissed under his breath. "I don't want it reported. You don't report. End of discussion." 

"Detective Ellison, you've been assaulted. I have to report that to the police." 

"I am the police. It's been reported." Jim rolled over and sat up as the doctor removed his hand. "I do not want this going in my record, you understand?" 

The man nodded. "There's been some tearing, not a lot, but you're going to be uncomfortable for a few days. You may see some blood. Try soft foods and lots of liquids. You don't want to have to pass anything hard." 

"Fine," Jim said through clenched teeth. "Can I go now?" 

"I'm giving you a prescription for Tylenol with codeine. That should take care of any discomfort from your arm. Don't get the cast wet." 

Ellison nodded. 

"And get a stool softener. Over the counter is fine, but you're going to want something." 

Jim looked away, nodding again. 

"I still think you need to let us do a rape kit." 

"No." Jim eyed the doctor darkly. "Don't ask again." 

"All right, Detective, you can go. Call me or see your regular doctor if you have any problems." 

Jim started to rise, then stopped. "Can't you get me a shirt or something? It's cold out there." 

The doctor sniffed. "I believe if you had taken two seconds to talk to your partner, you'd see he had a change of clothes for you." 

Jim shook his head. "Just a shirt. And can you get someone to bring it in?" 

The doctor nodded slowly. "Get a counselor, Detective. If you want to keep this matter private, you better have someone to talk to. 

**PART FOUR**

"You, uh, want a beer or something?" Blair asked from the kitchen. 

Jim stood in the living room, home at last, and suddenly unsure of what to do. Talking to Sandburg was so low on the list, it didn't even _make_ the list, but avoiding it was getting harder and harder to do. The younger man had asked questions almost nonstop on the way back here, and had only stopped when Jim had growled at him. Even now, Jim had no idea where that primal, almost otherworldly sound had come from, but it had shut Sandburg up. Even if his partner had given him a very strange and speculative look. 

"No," he said shortly, "I don't want a beer." 

"Something hot, maybe? Coffee? Or I could make you a cup of my chamomile tea -- very good for calming the nerves." 

"God, Sandburg," Jim finally exclaimed, "give it rest, will you?" He began to pace frantically, back and forth in front of the fireplace. "I don't want a beer. I don't want coffee. And I sure as shit don't want chamomile tea! I don't want to talk about it. I'm okay. And I don't have any shit that I need to process, meditate on, or share with my higher power." He wheeled, the tension turning to sudden fury. "And I don't need you in my face every second asking questions!" He turned and stalked to the bathroom. "What I need is a shower." 

This last was said almost under his breath, and with his back turned, he missed Blair's reaction. The younger man recoiled, almost as if he'd been physically slapped. He stood unmoving in the kitchen while the bathroom door slammed. He remained unmoving as the water came on, the sound loud in the silent apartment. And still he didn't move, for long, long moments while he stood and contemplated his friend's behavior. At length, he shook himself and moved to the stove. Mechanically, he lifted the teapot, emptied and refilled it, then set it on the stove. He was still standing there, unmoving, when the kettle began to whistle, drawing him from his thoughts. 

* * *

The water was hot. He'd thought it might help, but it didn't seem to be. He was jumpy, full of barely suppressed violence and rage. It frightened him when he thought about how angry he'd been at Sandburg, how unable to cope with the questions his Guide had thrown at him. 

He had to get a grip. 

He'd told the doctor he would handle it, so handle it he would. People went through this all the time. It wasn't the end of the world. As a matter of fact, his reaction -- the need to shower -- was fairly typical. Or so he'd read. Or been told. 

He tried to stop thinking -- ruthlessly pushing the thoughts out of his mind. Focus on something else, that was the ticket. In his mind, he was a sunlit meadow, and he could hear the trickle of a nearby stream. The sun was warm on his face, and he laughed as he fought with Sandburg about setting up the tent. There was fishing gear in the truck, and he had the whole weekend to relax and enjoy the clean, clear air, the fresh water from the brook, the immensity of crystal stars in the midnight sky. 

It was a beautiful thought, but he couldn't hold it. 

His arm ached, the muscle strained from trying to hold the loosely wrapped cast out of the water's spray. It was awkward and uncomfortable. 

And there was another pain -- deeper inside him. One that throbbed and would not be denied. 

He sighed in disgust and scrubbed at his body, mindless of the reddened, chafed skin he left behind. And when he wiped at his buttocks and the cleft between, he made himself ignore the blood that stained the rag. 

He climbed out, dried quickly and headed for the stairs. 

Sandburg appeared the moment he stepped out of the bathroom and he forestalled him with a glowering look. "Not another word," he growled at his Guide. "I'm going to bed." 

* * *

He was groggy and he couldn't move his hands again. He tugged, but they were tightly held behind his back. That made no sense. His arm was broken, wasn't it? How could it be behind his back? He was on his feet, and it was dark. And silent. Or was it? Were his senses on the fritz? 

He shifted in his bonds, confused as he realized his arm wasn't broken. He was prodded forward and he moved, trying to remember why he was here -- how he was here. Anderson had come to the apartment. Marie -- innocent Marie -- had opened the door to him and it was over before it began. He'd had no choice. No opportunity to do anything other than follow the man's orders. 

"Stop." 

The voice was hoarse and he smelled alcohol as the man spoke. He reached a little further with his sense of smell and identified Anderson. That made sense, right? But why the hell was he here with Anderson, and where was Marie? 

"Always the white knight, eh Ellison?" Anderson mocked. "Just had to save the little lady." 

The man laughed, and the sound was loud in his sensitive ears. 

'Dial it down, man,' he heard, and his head whipped around, searching for Sandburg, but he was still alone with Anderson. God, it had seemed so real. He risked one more quick look around, but it was only wishful thinking. His Guide was nowhere to be found. He was alone. 

Marie was still in the room -- the little room where he'd first woken up. He tried to think through the fog in his brain and conjured up a vision of her, against the back wall, huddled in on herself, in pain. In pain. One thing suddenly clarified for him. She'd been in labor. At least since he first woke up. He could picture her holding her stomach, the way she stroked the taut belly and the periodic moments when she seemed to disengage and become totally focused on the child she carried. Oh, God! How long had she been in labor? 

He hadn't even realized when Anderson came for her. All he'd been able to think about was that he had to keep this madman away from her. What was it he'd said? He had insights as to the location of the guns? He'd promised the man he'd talk to him about the guns. And somehow, as he walked out of that room, he'd actually deluded himself that that was what would happen. 

Jim shivered in the cold air and felt the barrel of the gun run down his back. It touched his neck gently, then ran a soft course against his spine, dipping below his belt to press against the crack of his buttocks. He shuddered; and Anderson laughed. 

"Oh, yeah," the other man said, and Jim heard him lick his lips. "This'll be even better." 

Hands on his arms, one hand holding a gun, and he was being turned to face Anderson. The man opened his mouth and the odor was nauseating. Jim groaned. 

"Oh, baby," said Anderson, "save those sweet sounds for later." 

Jim thought he was going to be sick. He closed his eyes and offered a brief prayer to deities unknown. 'Please -- not this.' 

The gun was against his heart, the barrel pressed hard enough to leave a small round circle. With his other hand, Anderson unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned his pants. The man watched Jim throughout, his eyes never wavering, a sick leer on his face. His hearing spiked as the zipper went down and he winced at the pain in his head. 

'Dial it down, man. Dial it down.' 

Sandburg was still not there, but it was his voice he heard as he struggled to keep his senses under control. His heart was racing -- the blood pounded in his temple. He didn't know if he could do this. He twitched, and Anderson pushed the gun tighter. 

"Remember the little woman ..." the man warned, and Jim forced himself to stillness. 

His pants were lowered, then his boxers. Anderson wasn't taking his time, but he seemed to be enjoying this perverse version of foreplay. With his pants at his ankles, he was turned again, and pushed forward over a counter of some kind. 

He felt a pressure against his opening, and before he could stop himself, he began to fight. He kicked backward, and tried to roll, but the angle was awkward and he couldn't quite complete the move. There was a sharp 'crack' that echoed in the air, and then his arm exploded in agony. He screamed, a short burst of pain that filled the room and seemed to take a long time to fade away. 

Anderson had the gun at his head now, and his words were laced with venom. "Doesn't matter to me, Ellison," he hissed, the booze on his breath torture to Jim's nose. "One hole's as good as another." 

Jim stilled immediately. 

The gun stroked his cheek, a gentle movement this time, and he could smell gunpowder and solvent, oil and the clean scent of the steel bullets beneath it all. The metal rasped against his evening whiskers, and he was acutely aware of the pull of each hair as the barrel floated past. 

His senses were on fire. 

'Dial it down, man. Dial it down.' 

He nodded softly to the unheard voice, and obeyed, maintaining enough awareness to know what was happening, to feel each movement. He was so tempted to dial it down to nothingness -- but then, what would happen? 

He shivered as Anderson touched him again, and then in one quick, brutal thrust, he was split apart and there was a rhythmic pounding in his ass. 

In. 

Out. 

In. 

Out. 

He began to count silently in his head. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Four. 

Endure and survive. It was the all-consuming thought. 

Pictures of a small, long-haired man arose unbidden in his consciousness and he made the immediate association of safety, warmth, acceptance. 

But there was none of that here. 

Two hundred, forty-six. 

Two hundred, forty-seven. 

Two hundred, forty-eight. 

Endure and survive. 

Endure and survive. 

It hurt so bad. He was crying now -- begging the man to stop, but there was only a cackle of delight to answer him and an increase in the tempo, the rhythm as Anderson plunged on ruthlessly. 

Three hundred ninety-eight. 

Three hundred ninety-nine. 

Four hundred. 

Marie was safe for now. He'd protected her. That was what he did. He was the Blessed Protector. Sandburg knew. The thought of his Guide brought another cry to his lips and he was rewarded with yet another brutal thrust. 

Endure and survive. 

Five hundred twelve. 

Five hundred thirteen. 

Five hundred fourteen. 

Endure. 

Survive. 

Live -- so you can fight later. 

Survival is victory. Isn't that what they said? Do what you have to do to survive. And in this case, do what you have to do to protect the innocent. 

Six hundred sixty-four. 

Anderson's rhythm became ragged. 

Six hundred sixty-five. 

He faltered; missed a beat. 

Six hundred sixty-six. 

Six hundred sixty-seven. 

The pain had mutated into this sort of all-encompassing sensory overload that threatened to overwhelm him. He struggled for control. 

Six hundred sixty-eight. 

Endure. 

Six hundred sixty-nine. 

Survive. 

Six hundred seventy. 

Anderson shuddered and drove in hard, one hand shoving the gun deep against his neck, the other clawing his back with surprisingly long fingernails. 

Six hundred seventy-one. 

Anderson shuddered again, and stilled. 

Six hundred seventy-two. 

Survive. Endure. 

Six hundred seventy-three. 

Anderson pulled out with a wet, slurping sound and a completely new frisson of pain ran through his body. 

Jim paused his count. Was it over? 

Something wet and sticky oozed from his ass, sliding slowly down his leg. He smelled blood. 

Endure. 

Survive. 

'Dial it down, man.' 

It all ran together in his head. 

He should fight. He should resist this. What sort of man just lays there and allows this to happen? What was wrong with him? 

Anderson turned him and began to pull up his pants, the gun a constant presence against his chest. 

He could feel the hands on his body, hear his name being said, over and over again. 

"Jim." 

"Jim." 

"Jim." 

And this time, Jim exploded. He screamed in rage, and whirled, arm coming around and connecting solidly with the face behind the voice and was triumphant when Anderson flew backward, landing in a heap on the floor. 

Jim was on him in an instant, the heavy cast lifted high to strike the killing blow, when the voice became clear. 

"Jim, man, it's me!" 

His vision cleared and he awoke to find himself on top of his Guide, pinning the younger man to the floor, and about to strike him with the cast. 

He froze, then scuttled backward, arms held out before him in a classic 'don't touch me' stance. 

Silence screamed in the room as the two men stared at each other across a seemingly unbreachable chasm. 

Blair moved first, two tentative steps forward. "Jim, man, you were dreaming." 

"Stay away, Sandburg." 

The younger man froze. Silence reigned again. 

Jim stared at his Guide. There was blood on his face, and already the beginnings of a bruise were visible. "I hit you," he said softly. 

Blair shrugged it off. "You were dreaming. You didn't mean to." 

Jim nodded and Blair crept another step closer. 

"Jim, man, you gotta tell me what happened." 

"Stay away from me, Blair." 

"I can't. I'm your Guide. You gotta let me help." 

Jim rose from the floor, walked quickly across the room and pulled Sandburg to his feet. He marched the man a few paces to the stairs and forced him down the first few. 

"You want to help? Leave me the hell alone." 

* * *

"She's beautiful," Adam said softly as he stroked the down-covered head. "Absolutely perfect." 

Marie nodded contently. She shifted slightly as the baby lost her nipple, teased the little lips with her finger, and was rewarded with a quick bite as the baby's suckling began again. 

"It's incredible that you can do that," Adam said, as he brushed his wife's hair back from her face. 

Marie smiled, a pleased and proud look, and nodded. "I know. It amazes me, too. I feel very earth-mothery." 

Adam laughed. "Earth-mothery?" 

"Yes, earth-mothery," his wife replied, "and don't tease. There's a lot that men don't understand about woman power." 

Adam raised his hands in surrender. "You don't have to convince me." He leaned down and placed a quick kiss on the baby's head, then a longer one on Marie's lips. "You amaze me." He laughed again. "I know, I know. I keep saying it, but it's true. What you went through ..." He shuddered and wrapped his arm around his girls as his eyes filled with tears. "God, Marie! I'm so sorry! If I'd ever known, ever suspected that they'd come after me like this, I'd never..." His head dropped to her shoulder and he rested it there. 

"Never what, Adam? Never have loved me? Never have married me? Never had this little angel?" She shook her head. "You can't control the world, my love. None of this was your fault." She turned her head and placed a kiss on his hair. "It's not your fault." 

He sighed, then pulled himself erect. "I wonder how Jim is doing? That arm looked painful." 

Marie nodded. "I'm worried about him, too, Adam." 

"We'll go see him when you and the little one are released, ok?" 

She nodded. "But that's not what I'm really worried about." She met Adam's eyes, willing him to understand what she was saying. "I think he may have other injuries, besides the arm." 

Adam nodded. "Yeah. I saw the bruise on his face. I think Anderson hit him, maybe roughed him up." 

"He may not have told Blair and his Captain about all his injuries." 

"Why would you say that?" Adam looked at his wifecuriously. 

"Maybe he feels -- uncomfortable -- because he got hurt." 

"Marie," Adam said in puzzlement, "are you trying to tell me something else happened?" 

She shrugged and the baby protested as the nipple slipped from her lips. Marie fussed at her breast, shifting the child from the left to the right, and helping her capture the new nipple. When the baby was suckling contentedly, Marie looked up. "I'm just saying that Jim doesn't strike me as the kind to talk about things that hurt him. Maybe you should see if you can get him to talk." 

Adam looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "I don't think Jim Ellison is going to want to talk to me about much of anything." Marie started to speak but he shushed her with a finger to her lips. "Hush. I'll see if I can't talk to his partner, Sandburg. He seems to have a good rapport with Ellison." He looked at Marie. "Will that do?" 

She nodded and he smiled. "God, woman! I had no idea this earth-mothery thing would extend to everyone on the planet." 

"Not everyone," she said softly. "Just the ones I care about." 

**PART FIVE**

"So you have no idea how long you were unconscious?" 

"No, Simon," Jim snarled as he rose and began to pace again. "As I told you every other time you asked the question, I think it was about two hours, but I'm not sure." 

"All right, Jim, calm down," Simon said softly as he looked at Sandburg, who nodded. "I know this is hard, but you know the drill. We go over it, then we go over it, then ..." 

"We go over it again," Jim finished for him, drawing a deep breath. "Yeah, Simon, I know the drill." He lifted his good arm and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm just not used to being on this side of it." 

"You seem to be a little on edge," Simon said as he reached out to touch the other man's shoulder. 

Jim moved smoothly out of reach, keeping his eyes down and missing the look his Captain and his Guide exchanged. He pulled out the chair and sat again, forcing himself to stillness. "All right. What next, Simon?" 

"You woke up and ...?" 

"My hands were still cuffed behind my back. I was groggy; I'd been drugged. I was cold and I wasn't thinking real clearly. My legs had been taped together." 

"Your senses, Jim?" Blair asked cautiously. 

"Out of whack," he replied shortly. "And it doesn't matter, 'cause it can't go in the official report." He fixed Blair with a steely gaze. 

"It matters to you," his Guide said softly, "and to me." 

Jim turned away, staring at Simon, then dropping his eyes to the table. "Marie sat down next to me. She got the tape off, and then I had some mobility. I got up, examined the room, and determined there was no way out." 

"But she was unharmed? Marie?" 

Jim nodded. "As far as I could tell, yes. Scared and cold, but he hadn't roughed her up beyond the shallow cut on her abdomen." He swallowed hard. "She was actually very brave -- seemed to take all of it in stride which amazed me." 

"And then Anderson came?" 

Jim nodded again, slowly this time. He wasn't sure what Marie had said, didn't know what he should say. He didn't want to talk about it -- didn't want to think about it. He could feel the rage building inside. He had to get a grip! He clenched his fists as he felt his heart rate surge. He didn't want to talk about this! 

"What did Anderson want?" 

He slammed to his feet, throwing the chair to the floor and stormed to the wall. He stood there, shaking with barely suppressed violence and breathing hard. Once again, he missed the look of confusion that passed between the other two men. He turned around, staring first at Simon, then at Sandburg. "He wanted to talk, all right? He wanted to know where the weapons were." Jim breathed deeply and rolled his shoulders as the tension continued to mount. "Anderson wanted to talk," he repeated. "And I don't." With that, he moved swiftly to the door and was gone. 

Simon rose and followed Jim's trail to the door, stopping only when Blair reached out to touch him. "What the hell was that all about, Sandburg?" he asked with an edge in his voice. 

Blair shrugged. "He's really tense, Simon. I don't know exactly what happened yesterday, but I don't think we have the whole picture yet." 

"He's been like that at home, too?" 

Blair nodded. "Angry, hostile, distant. He seems like he's ready to explode all the time." His hand came up and he unconsciously stroked the bruise on his cheek. 

Simon's eyes grew wide. "He did that to you? What the hell was he thinking ..." He started for the door again and was stopped by Blair's voice. 

"No, Simon, he didn't mean to." Sandburg shifted uncomfortably. "He was dreaming -- last night. A nightmare, really." 

"And he hit you?" 

"Not deliberately, man. He, uh, musta thought I was someone else." Sandburg shrugged. "He didn't mean to," he repeated. 

Simon paced back and forth, chewing on his cigar. "All right. Go find your partner. Tell him to take the rest of the day. Then tell him to get his shit together and be here first thing in the morning and let's get this damn statement done once and for all." 

"I'll try, Simon," Blair responded. "But to be honest, I'm not sure what happened and Jim's not talking. This may be something he just can't do on his own." 

"Isn't that what he has you for? To help him deal with this weird shit?" 

"Well, yeah, that's essentially the Guide's function. Dealing with weird shit." Blair rolled his eyes at the older man. "I can just see that in my dissertation." 

"Sandburg..." the Captain growled. 

"Okay, Simon, chill out. I'm supposed to help Jim with his senses, all right? But I'm not convinced that this -- whatever _this_ is -- is necessarily related to his senses." 

"So find out." 

"Easier said than done. Jim Ellison is not the easiest man to talk to in the best of times. Whatever went on with Anderson seems to have made it almost impossible for him to talk about anything." 

"You have any ideas what went down?" 

"You tell me. What would make Jim act this way, Simon? You're an alpha male. How would you feel if you'd been captured the way he was?" 

"Humiliated." Simon stilled for a moment. "Like I should have been able to prevent it." 

"Jim couldn't do that. We know Anderson had Marie from the beginning. He was threatening her life." 

Simon nodded. "I'd still feel like there was something more I should have done. Moved faster, been stronger, something." 

Blair narrowed his eyes as he studied the Captain. "You think Jim is feeling that?" 

"Possibly." Simon shrugged. "Jim's got that whole protector of the tribe thing going. He takes a lot on himself. But he's still just a man." 

"So the anger is really at himself, not at us." 

Simon shrugged again. "Go find him. Ask him yourself. You're the observer, the student of human behavior." He walked to the door and paused, hand on the knob. "I suck at this sort of stuff, Sandburg. You know that." 

* * *

Jim was standing in the snow outside the stationhouse when Blair walked up. This time, the observer was careful to speak first, and to keep his distance from the skittish man. 

"Jim, buddy," he began. 

"Don't start with me, Sandburg," the detective growled. 

"No, man, it's all right." Blair kept his tone light, kept several feet of space between them as he spoke. "Simon's cool with calling it a day. Says you can come in in the morning and finish." 

Jim turned and looked at Blair. "Simon's 'cool' with that?" Jim snorted. "Not my Captain Banks. What'd you say to him?" 

Blair paused, unable to read his partner's tone, and wary of saying the wrong thing. "We, uh, talked about alpha males." 

"Alpha males?" Jim's eyebrow rose as he spoke. 

"Ah, shit, Jim!" Blair kicked the snow in frustration. "Something's not right -- everyone knows it." He kept his eyes averted -- he didn't want to evoke some primal instinct in Jim that made him feel threatened. But he also missed the Sentinel's shocked reaction to his words. "Simon told me if it had happened to him -- well, he'd feel like he should've done something more." 

Jim's face twisted into a mask of rage. Blood raced through his veins and his muscles tightened. How the hell had they found out? Who told them what had happened? 

Blair continued on, toeing the snow as he spoke, oblivious to Jim's reaction. "There wasn't anything you could do, Jim. You had to go with Anderson. He would have hurt Marie." 

Jim swallowed. "I don't want to talk about this, Blair," he said, the warning in his voice clear. 

"Look, man, I know you don't. But you better get your head on straight pretty damn quick! The next little tantrum you throw, Simon's gonna send you for a mandatory psych eval -- and the way you're acting, you aren't gonna pass!" 

"I'm not talking to a shrink." Jim folded his arms across his chest. 

"Then talk to me, please," Blair begged. "Tell me what's going on? Is it just that you feel you didn't fight hard enough to keep Anderson from taking you and Marie? Are you thinking you should have been able to find a way out? Are you worried about the baby being delivered out there? What is it?" 

Jim looked at Blair. Maybe they didn't know. Maybe all Simon meant was fighting harder to prevent capture. Maybe his secret was still safe. He needed to get a grip on his rage or he was going to lose it completely and the whole story would come out. If he kept broadcasting 'something's wrong with Ellison' at top decibels, it wouldn't be long before some big cop was down at the ER threatening one scared young doctor, and his medical report would become police property. He took a deep breath, forced himself to smile at the younger man and sighed. "Sorry, Chief," he said softly, "I _am_ feeling like I should have done something, and it makes me angry." He shook himself, then stepped back when Blair reached out to touch him. "I'm just not ..." 

"Coping well?" the younger man offered quickly. 

"No," Jim said. "I'm just not ready to talk about it." 

Blair narrowed his eyes as he looked up at the bigger man. "And when do you think you'll be ready to talk about it?" 

Jim shrugged. "Give me some time, Chief. Let me focus on the case -- let me work on catching Anderson. It'll work itself out." 

"You know I'm here for you, man." 

"I know. This is just something I have to do by myself." 

"You gotta get a handle on the anger, Jim. Simon isn't gonna be Mr. Understanding forever." 

"I know. I'm sorry." Jim reached out, almost touching the bruise on Blair's face, then drawing back and taking several steps backward. "Sorry 'bout that, Chief." He swallowed hard. "You know I didn't mean to." 

Blair waved one hand dismissively. " 's all right. What's more important is what was going on with you when it happened." 

Jim's jaw tightened and he struggled for control. "I told you I can't talk about that now." 

Blair nodded. "What're you gonna do now?" 

"Run." 

"You coming to the game later?" 

Jim looked at Blair blankly. 

"Major Crimes versus Arson? Remember? You were supposed to start?" 

Jim shook his head and lifted the cast. "I'm benched." 

"Come anyway. You can cheer me on." 

"They letting you play, smallfry?" 

Blair smiled. Now that sounded like his Sentinel. "Someone's gotta cover for you, big guy." 

Jim laughed and for a second things were normal and then he moved and a pain flared and reality crashed around him again. But he needed to keep up the front, keep things seeming normal. "I'll be there. You guys think you have a chance without me?" 

"You ain't all that, hoss," Blair laughed. "Rafe's pretty damn good and H has got some serious moves." 

"Jack Paulsen from Arson is six four," Jim reminded him. 

"So's Simon." 

Jim shrugged. "Paulsen's twenty years younger." 

"So'm I." Blair smiled. 

"All right, already," Jim grumbled. "I said I'd come." 

Blair sobered as he looked at his friend. "You sure you're all right, Jim?" 

"Don't start again, Sandburg," Jim warned. 

Blair raised his hands in surrender. "Okay. Sorry." He dropped his hands and looked at his Sentinel. "I suppose it's pointless to tell you you shouldn't be running at all, so I'll just say don't push too hard." He pointed to the arm. "And tie your sling down. Don't bounce your arm all over hell and back." 

"Yes, Mom," Jim said as he headed back inside to change into running clothes. 

"And don't be late for the game," Blair called, still not sure if he'd made any progress with his friend or not. 

* * *

Running helped. After he left Sandburg, he had gone down to the locker room, scrupulously avoiding conversation with anyone. He'd changed into his sweats, zipped the jacket over his broken arm, pulled up his hood, and hit the street. The light dusting of snow from the previous day made the streets slightly wet, slightly slushy, slightly slick. He had to concentrate to maintain both his balance and his rhythm. 

Concentration helped. 

He was so focused on the run, so intent on where each foot was placed, there was no room for anything else. The wind was cold on his face, but the air was clear and he drew deep breaths, again in rhythm with the pounding of his feet on the sidewalk beneath the snow. 

The route from the station over to the park, around and back was four miles. He ran it often. It usually took about half an hour. But today it wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed to stay focused on something other than what had happened at the warehouse. He needed to work off some of his rage. 

He wanted nothing more than to come back to the station, too exhausted to think, throw himself in his truck and go home. Sandburg would be gone; he could take a long shower and then maybe sleep. Really sleep. Let himself sink into exhausted oblivion and never think again. 

He finished his first circuit and started again. Feet pounding on the pavement, every movement designed to prevent thought, he pushed on hard. Little flurries of snow rose in his wake and his breath steamed the air. 

He was at the park again -- halfway through his second loop. The snow was deeper here; it made him focus harder. The wind had picked up and the sky was darkening. Jim risked a look up. It was going to snow again. He pushed on. 

The park was deserted today -- too cold and too wet for anyone but Jim Ellison to be out. His socks were wet now and the tingly numb feeling in his feet was welcome. It added to the distractions. He focused on his feet. They were cold. They were wet. They tingled with the threat of losing sensation. They pounded hard against the frozen ground. 

He focused on the burn just beginning in his muscles. His calves were pulled tight, cells screaming for oxygen and still he pushed on. 

His mind was blissfully free of anything beyond his body's immediate needs. Where to place his feet. How to keep his balance. When to breathe to maintain his rhythm. It was liberating. He wanted to run forever. 

He flew past the stationhouse a second time, never seeing the two men who watched from the steps. He never heard Blair call to him. Didn't see the worry on his face, the tension in Simon's form. The world had been reduced to nothing but feet on ground, air in lungs. Balance. Form. Rhythm. 

He pushed hard, ran faster, almost feeling he was flying. He reached the park again, and his steps began to falter. His rhythm stuttered and he slid on a patch of ice, hidden beneath the churned up snow. He floundered for a moment, trying to throw his arms out for balance, but handicapped by having only one arm free to throw. It was close. He managed to stay on his feet but when he caught the rhythm again, he was moving more slowly. He scanned the ground cautiously, not wanting to risk a real fall and another injury. 

He pushed on. It was harder now. His lungs burned and his muscles cried in protest. He couldn't find the rhythm. His movements were ragged; an obscene parody of the grace and fluidity that had been his just moments ago. The light, soft snow flurries he'd left in his wake turned to muddy slush now. 

He slowed more as he approached the station. Sandburg waited for him on the steps, a look of concern on his face. He drew to a stop on the sidewalk out front, and stared up at his Guide. The anger came rushing back in. He had no words to spare for the man -- not now, and he wondered if there would ever be words again. 

He missed the feeling of flying. He was back on the earth -- grounded again. And he wanted to fly. 

He turned away from Blair and trudged to his truck, his limbs slightly unsteady as he climbed in. It never occurred to him to ask the anthropologist if he wanted a ride home. 

**PART SIX**

He showered and slipped into bed again, but sleep would not come. Somehow, he couldn't find the blessed relief of oblivion. He tossed and turned for over an hour, then rose in disgust. 

It was a short drive back to the station, and he was pleased to see that Sandburg's battered Volvo was gone. At least he wouldn't have to deal with his Guide and his incessant questions. What happened, Jim? Are you okay, Jim? Do you want to talk, Jim? Ellison felt the rage swirl in his gut again and forced himself to clamp down hard on it. He had to keep it under control. 

Anyone who dared speak to him inside was answered with a noncommittal grunt, and the smart ones didn't push it. Those who did push, got the growl, and that seemed to be sufficient to grant him peaceful passage through to his desk. 

He sat, booted up his computer, and began to read his mail. There were several responses to the inquiries Sandburg had sent out yesterday. He pulled out a desk drawer and grabbed three folders, labeling them Mitchell, Tucker, and Anderson. As the printer began to spew forth paper, he placed each sheet in the appropriate folder. Some of the printouts had to be copied, as there was information on each man on the one email. He wanted each folder complete, so he made duplicates and filed in triplicate. It was a mindless task, and in doing it, he felt calm for the first time since he had entered the station. 

It was cop work and he was a good cop. 

Tucker had been released and returned to Alabama. Records show he registered an old Ford pickup several months ago and he was working for a local business. A few phone calls and he had confirmed that the man hadn't missed work since he started. Of course, someone could be covering for him, but for now, he crossed Tucker off the list. 

Mitchell was more of an enigma. No records of a car, employment, or anything else he could track. It was as if the man had been released and vanished. Jim shook his head and closed the folder. 

He knew Anderson was in the area, or at least he had been yesterday, but records confirmed that he had registered the 1999 Ford Taurus in Seattle. Anderson had secured a job as a dishwasher in a bar in the seedy part of town and Jim placed a call, hoping it would be open this early in the afternoon. 

He was talking to the owner, a former New Yorker with a strong accent and a whisky voice that hinted at sampling the merchandise, when Simon walked out of his office and froze. He stared at Jim, then stepped briskly to his desk, waiting for him to finish his call. 

"What are you doing here, Ellison?" he barked. 

"Last time I looked, I worked here, Captain." Jim tried to keep his voice calm, to hide the anger that was beginning to bubble again. 

"I told Sandburg to get you out of here for the day." 

Jim shrugged. "I've got work to do." 

"I saw you run, Ellison. You did twelve miles. You've got to be tired. And Sandburg said you didn't sleep last night." 

"My sleeping habits are my own business, Captain," Jim said with ice in his voice. Take the hint, Simon, he begged. Let it drop. The rage was churning upwards, threatening to spill out. 

"All right, Detective," Simon responded in the same tone, "if you're so damn hot to be here ..." 

Jim's face blanked. Those were the words. He'd heard those words before. 

"And you so damn hot for it ..." 

Memory crashed around him. The words echoed in the squadroom. Simon stood before him, mouth moving but no sound coming out. All Jim heard was Anderson. 

"And you so damn hot for it ..." 

"And you so damn hot for it ..." 

"And you so damn hot for it ..." 

He felt the blood rush to his face. He'd asked for it. He'd gone willingly with Anderson, and he'd asked for it. Even his rapist had known ... 

"And you so damn hot for it ..." 

There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, and he reared back. He knocked the hand away with a snarl and backed away, half-crouching against another attack. The fog in his brain cleared slowly and he saw Simon, looming over him, worry etched in the lines on his face. 

"What the hell's wrong with you, Jim?" the older man whispered. 

Ellison drew himself erect and stood. The room was silent. The few people present stared for a moment, then pointedly looked away when Jim glared at them. 

"My office," Simon said. "Now." 

Jim shook his head. "No time. I've got an address for Anderson," he said as he headed for the door. "I'm going to Seattle." 

* * *

The trip to Seattle had been a bust. Nothing at Anderson's address of record but a vacant lot. The only good to come from it was at least, for a few hours, he'd felt like he was doing something, felt something other than the rage and the shame that threatened to consume him now. He'd felt like a cop again. 

He'd stopped at the loft and changed into sweats before heading back to the station for the game. Last thing he wanted to do was sit with the others, laughing and joking. But he needed the normal front. He needed everyone to think that everything was fine. 

It had come to him as he drove back from Seattle. Somehow, he just knew if he could catch Anderson, put the man back inside, make him pay for what he'd done, then the rage would subside and the shame would be washed away. He had a plan now -- focus on the case. Find the perpetrator. If he could just do that, then the rest of this nightmare would go away. He'd be able to heal. 

He got to the station and parked. The snow was deeper now; more had fallen from the dark clouds he'd seen on his morning run. Thinking of the run reminded him of the sense of freedom he'd felt, the brief escape from the rage, the temporary respite from fear of being found out. 

He wanted that feeling again. 

Without another thought for the game he was supposed to attend, or for the need to present a normal front, he took off once again for the park. 

The run didn't go as well this time. He was stiff from all the driving and he couldn't find his rhythm. He was plagued by a nagging feeling that he shouldn't be out here, that he needed to be somewhere else, doing something else. 

Every step jarred his back, his buttocks, his insides. Each movement, instead of being an escape from his ordeal, only seemed to remind him of it. 

Phrases danced through his mind. 

"And you so hot for it ..." 

He ran, screaming denial in his mind. I didn't want it! It wasn't my fault! I didn't ask for it! 

"Oh yeah ... This'll be even better." 

NO! Not better! I didn't want it! 

His breath was ragged, his steps uneven. Where was the flying rhythm of the morning? 

"Save those sweet sounds for later." 

He was at the park when he fell. Dark ice beneath the snow, a twist of ankle, and down he went. He lay on his side, the snow soaking wetly into the thick cotton of his sweatsuit. The broken arm was up -- at least he hadn't injured that again. But he knew there'd be a livid bruise on his hip, and the ankle was throbbing as well. He moaned as he struggled to rise. 

"Save those sweet sounds for later." 

Oh, God! He gagged as nausea overwhelmed him and he was sick. He finished, climbing to his feet as he groaned loudly. 

"Save those sweet sounds for later." 

Bile filled his mouth and he spat harshly on the snow. It lay there, a sickly green against the white, a testament to his internal turmoil. 

He turned away, staring up at the dark sky. No stars tonight -- the clouds still hung heavy over Cascade. There was no freedom in running tonight. There was no escape to be found. 

He turned and began to limp back to the station, his head down and the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

* * *

The locker room boiled with activity. Full of the exuberant, sweaty winners from Major Crimes, and the less exuberant, but still sweaty losers from Arson, comments flew, high fives were exchanged, and clothing was being shed rapidly as steam began to rise from the showers. 

Simon shook Paulsen's hand, accepting the congratulations on the game, then turned to speak to Blair as Arson's center headed for the showers. 

"You still haven't heard from him?" he asked in concern. 

Blair shook his head. "When did you say he left for Seattle?" 

"Before 2:00." Simon scratched his head, then tugged his shirt off. "He should have been back by now." 

"His truck wasn't here when I got here for the game, so we have to assume he isn't back yet." Blair stripped out of his shirt, opened a locker and pulled out his cell phone. Simon waited as he dialed and listened briefly, then hung up. "It's not turned on." 

"God damn it! He knows better than that! What if he ran into trouble ..." The thought hung unfinished between the two men. 

"Maybe he just needs some time alone, Simon," Blair offered hesitantly. "Maybe he's still processing things." 

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden flurry of activity and loud voices. 

"Jim! Where you been?" Rafe's voice echoed loudly in the large tiled room. 

Henry Brown chimed in. "We were looking for you! You were supposed to cheer us on." 

"Hey, Ellison, what's wrong with you?" Rafe again. "You don't look so good." 

Blair and Simon exchanged a look, then hurried over to the others. Ellison stood unsteadily by the end of the row of lockers, his gray sweatsuit soaked through and his teeth chattering. He looked at the men he worked with as if they were strangers, and when Blair approached, he took a step back, limping. 

"Hey, man," the Guide said softly, "it's all right." He grabbed a towel from Rafe and passed it to Jim. "Looks like you could use a shower. Maybe some clean clothes?" 

Jim clenched his jaw, biting down hard on the anger and confusion that filled him. Why was it like this? Why couldn't he just relax and talk to these people? They were his friends. Normal. Be normal. 

" 'm okay," he mumbled to Blair, dabbing at his wet pants with the clean towel. He looked up, forcing a smile and added, "So, who won?" 

"MC all the way, my man!" He lifted his hand for a triumphant smack and was left holding it aloft as Jim stared at him. "We won, Jim," he tried again, and this time Jim raised his hand and smacked the other's. 

"Congrats," he said, watching warily as worried expressions bloomed on Simon and Blair's faces. 

"You want that shower, Jim?" Simon asked as the Sentinel shuddered in his wet clothes. 

"No, Simon," Jim paused as he was wracked with another violent shiver. "I'm okay, really." 

He turned and was walking slowly out when Rafe bounced forward and said, "What? You too good to shower with the rest of us now?" and smacked him on the ass with a towel. "Saving yourself for someone else?" 

Jim roared, whirling around and pouncing forward, the cast held up menacingly and his other hand fisted in anger. "Get the fuck away from me!" He reached out, grabbed Rafe's T-shirt in his fist and yanked the man forward. "Just keep your fucking hands to yourself!" 

The room was silent. All activity stopped and all eyes were fixed on Ellison. Rafe raised his hands in surrender, dropped his eyes and muttered, "Sorry, Jim. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything." 

Simon moved forward, separating the two men and nodding toward the showers, relieved when the rest of the people still hovering began to move away. The tall man kept a hand on Jim's shoulder and Blair could see his friend's struggle to be still, to not push it away. 

What the hell had happened to his Sentinel? 

It was Blair who moved up smoothly and dislodged Simon's hand, watching with interest as Jim's tension eased and he relaxed marginally. "You want to go home now, Jim?" he asked quietly, shaking his head to quiet Simon. 

Ellison stood silent for a moment, then looked up at his Captain. "I'm sorry, Simon. It's just ..." He raised his hand in frustration. "I had a bad day." 

Simon studied him critically. The man looked exhausted. Wet, cold, dirty. His face was pale and etched with pain. "You taking anything for that arm?" he asked. 

It was Blair who answered. "You know he can't," he said in a low voice. 

"You may need to take some more time, Jim, if the pain is making you like this." 

Ellison shook his head. "I need to work, Simon. I've got to find this guy." 

"You're not going to be working if you can't control that temper of yours." Simon sighed and looked around. "For God's sake, Jim, it was _Rafe._ " 

Jim dropped his head. "I know. I'm sorry. Tell him I'm sorry." 

"Home, Jim," Blair urged, increasingly concerned at the beaten tone in his partner's voice, the worn down stance of his body. "You need to rest." He looked up at Simon. "Can't we do this tomorrow? Please? He needs to go home." Sandburg was trying to slide back into his shirt and still keep one hand on the exhausted man before him. It was the first time Jim had allowed a touch of any kind and he wasn't letting go. 

Simon nodded. "Get some sleep, Ellison," he ordered as he headed for the showers. "And get in here tomorrow and finish that statement." 

Jim stood still, swaying slightly. He was confused, embarrassed, ashamed. He didn't feel like himself, didn't feel like he had any control over his actions. Words flew from his mouth, his body moved, and it was as if he were disconnected from it all. And he was so tired ... 

There was a weight on his arm, warm and comforting, and he looked down to see it was a hand. He followed the hand up an arm and over to a face and saw his Guide looking at him warily. Sandburg -- afraid of him? Afraid of what he'd do. Was that what that bastard Anderson had done to him? Changed him so that even his partner was afraid of him? He swallowed hard and shuddered. " 's all right, Sandburg," he said softly, "I'm not going to hit you again." 

"You gonna let me take you home?" 

Jim nodded and began to move as Blair tugged him gently toward the door. 

"We're taking the truck," Blair said firmly, "and you're letting me drive." 

Ellison reached into his jacket pocket and produced keys, passing them over without a word. 

"And you're going to let me look at your ankle when we get home? See if we need to wrap it?" 

Again, Jim nodded, and when he stumbled slightly and the younger man first tightened his grip, and then placed an arm around his waist, he leaned into the support. This was a touch that didn't threaten him. He could bear this. Sandburg was safety, and warmth, and security, and right now, Jim Ellison needed all of that he could get. 

* * *

Jim had been quiet in the car, not answering his questions, but not flaring up at him either. He'd pulled an old blanket from behind the seat and wrapped it around his partner, then cranked the heater up as high as it would go. And still Jim had shivered. 

The touch Jim had allowed at the station was refused when he tried to help the older man from the truck. Having learned his lesson, Blair backed off immediately and let Jim make his own slow and painful way into the building and up to the loft. 

He headed straight for the bathroom and when Blair offered to run upstairs and get clean clothes for him, Jim accepted. The water was running when he came back down and Jim answered his knock, still fully clothed. He took the clothes with a curt, "Thanks," and Blair mentally prepared himself for a return of Volatile Man. He reminded himself he wasn't going to push this time. Something had happened and Jim obviously needed some space to deal with it. His job, as both Guide and friend, was to give the man his space, and still be there when it was time to talk. 

He went back to the kitchen, emptying and refilling the kettle, then turning on the stove to heat the water. Within minutes, it was whistling and he turned the burner down to simmer. He pulled down his selection of teas, choosing something soothing that might help Jim sleep. If he could get him to drink it. 

The water in the shower ran for a long time. Blair was sure there would be no hot water left when it finally stopped. He listened for any sign that Jim might want some help with his ankle and then resigned himself to another rejection when the big man finally appeared. 

He was dressed in another sweatsuit, this one navy, and he had the damp towel slung around his neck. His feet were bare and he still moved with a slight limp as he made his way slowly toward the stairs. 

"Jim?" Blair called cautiously. 

The older man looked up and stopped, but did not speak. 

"Can I look at your foot now?" He busied himself with the tea while he awaited a response. 

Fully expecting to be rebuffed, he was pleasantly surprised when his Sentinel moved to the table and sat down. Blair placed the tea on the table, then knelt at Jim's feet. He reached out slowly, watching to make sure his action didn't surprise the other man, then gently lifted the injured leg and studied it. 

"Know what you're looking at, Chief?" Jim asked quietly. 

Blair was pleased to see that the tea he'd offered was being sipped. He shook his head. "Not really. You're the one with the medical training." 

"It's strained. Not too bad." Jim wiggled his foot loosely, then winced. "I fell." 

"Where were you?" 

"In the park." Jim took another sip of the tea and sighed. "This is good, Chief." 

"Do I need to do anything for it?" 

"Nah -- it'll be fine in a couple of days." 

"Do I need to do anything for you?" He lifted his eyes and looked at the older man as he spoke, Jim's foot still cradled in his hands. 

Jim drank the last of the tea, placed the cup on the table and gently withdrew his foot from his Guide's grasp. "I'm okay, Blair," he said softly. "Just give me some time to find Anderson, and things will be back to normal." 

He rose and headed for the stairs, his steps slow but steady. He climbed halfway up, then stopped, and looked back. "If I dream again tonight, it's probably better if you stay downstairs." He gestured at Blair's face. "I don't want a repeat of -- that." 

Yeah, like that's gonna happen, Blair thought to himself, but he nodded obediently which seemed to satisfy the Sentinel. Jim turned and disappeared up the stairs and into his room. Blair heard the bed covers being pulled back, and the gentle ruffling of sheets as Jim slipped into the bed. The white noise generator began to hum and the Guide knew that his Sentinel was unsure of his control over his senses, and in serious need of sleep. Nowadays, his control had improved to the point that he only used the generator on rare occasions. 

Blair rinsed the teacup and placed it to dry. Another oddity to Jim's behavior. The man never left anything out of place. It made the younger man think. He moved to the bathroom and was surprised to find all of Jim's dirty clothes still lying on the floor. He began to pick up, first turning the shirt right side out and setting it to one side, then unwadding the two little balls that were really socks. This was all so unlike Jim. He never left his clothes on the floor. He picked up the pants next, pulled out the boxers and gasped. There in the seat of the white cotton shorts was a vivid streak of red blood. 

Blair's head rose and he stared unseeing up through the ceiling, thinking furiously. Suddenly Jim's moodiness began to make sense. His sudden aversion to anyone's touch. The anger and violent displays. How the hell had the man managed to keep this a secret at the hospital? 

He shook his head, tears filling his eyes. He'd been so wrong. Here he thought it was an alpha male thing, and in a way, of course, it was. But not the way he'd been thinking. Not what Simon had described. Jim wasn't feeling responsible for the attack, the kidnapping, the baby's birth. 

No. It wasn't that at all. 

Jim had been raped. 

**PART SEVEN**

Jim slept that night -- no nightmares. And Blair knew because he had spent the night standing watch. Well, sitting watch really. He'd stayed on the couch, working on a paper he hoped to publish, correcting tests, and making out lesson plans. He yawned hugely, then smiled as he heard Jim's quiet morning ritual. Rise, make the bed, grab clean clothes, head for the shower. This morning there was the added step of turning off the white noise generator. Blair smiled as the quiet hum died. The machine had done its job. 

Footsteps on the stairs told him Jim was coming down and his stomach tensed as he waited to see how the man would be today. Angry? Violent? Depressed? Moody? All the changes made sense in light of what he had discovered last night. Now he just needed to figure out how to best help his friend. And do it without betraying the confidence the older man didn't know he had shared. 

"Morning, Chief." The words were warm and welcome. They hinted at routine and a return to normalcy but Blair knew that however genuine Jim's feelings were at that moment, they could change in an instant. 

"Hey, Jim. You sleep okay, man?" 

The Sentinel nodded. "Gonna shower," he mumbled as he padded barefoot to the bathroom. 

"You want breakfast?" Blair called to the retreating form. 

Jim waved over his shoulder. "I'll get something later," he replied as he disappeared behind the bathroom door. 

Blair puttered in the kitchen. Even more so than yesterday, he felt he was walking on eggshells. How to care for his Sentinel without telling him he knew what had really happened? What to say, what to do to keep the calm and rational man that had come down the stairs and not trigger the angry, violent man who had been such a regular visitor in their lives these past two days? 

He wanted to fix a huge breakfast, with all the high carb, high fat things he knew Jim liked. Pancakes and eggs, bacon and biscuits. But he knew that alone would raise suspicions. He didn't want to just put out cold cereal either. He compromised and fixed scrambled eggs and toast -- Jim could slide the eggs onto the toast and eat the sandwich on the run. It should do. 

The eggs were ready by the time the water turned off and when Blair heard the door to the bathroom open, he dropped the bread into the toaster. He could hear Jim cleaning up the bathroom and by the time he stepped out, the toast was done. 

"Eggs, Jim?" he asked, holding out the paper plate with the sandwich on it. 

"Hmmm? Yeah, thanks." Jim stood in the living room, looking around cautiously. "Just a minute." 

"What're you looking for?" Blair asked. 

"Last night." Jim walked back to the bathroom, then quickly returned. "I didn't clean up last night." He looked at Blair. 

"Nope. I did." 

Jim's eyes narrowed and Blair turned away to fuss with the frying pan in the sink. 

"My clothes?" 

Jim's voice was low and dangerous-sounding, and Blair felt his heart rate increase. He was sure Jim heard it as well, but he struggled gamely on. "I just, uh, put 'em in the hamper, Jim. It was no big deal, man." He finished washing the frying pan, and began to wipe the counter. 

"You're awfully clean all of a sudden, Chief." The words were normal, average, routine, but the tone was cold and harsh. 

"I, uh, know you've been a little stressed, Jim," he responded calmly. "I just thought I'd try and help out." Don't push. Don't push. Give the man some space. 

There was a long silence, then Jim nodded and sat at the table. He ate quickly and efficiently, downed the cup of coffee Sandburg set before him, then rose to do his own cleaning up. The plate went into the garbage. The table was wiped down again. The cup was washed and placed in the drainer to dry. 

Blair didn't speak, didn't interfere, but he didn't leave the room, either. 

When Jim was done, there was an awkward silence. "Thanks for breakfast, Chief," the older man said. He reached out and lightly touched Blair's face. "This still hurt?" 

Blair shook his head and Jim withdrew his hand. 

"I'm sorry, Blair," he said softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He turned and stared into space then moved to the windows to look out over the snow-covered streets. "I hate seeing you afraid of me." 

"I'm not afraid, Jim," the Guide responded. 

"You were last night. I saw it in your face." 

Blair shrugged. "I know you'd never deliberately hurt me." 

"No -- not deliberately. But my control hasn't been the best lately." Jim reached out and laid a hand on the icy window, letting the cold seep into his body, letting it help him stay calm. 

Blair took a few steps towards him, then stopped. "You been thinking about getting some help with that?" 

The hand on the window fisted, and Jim's body went rigid. "Don't, Sandburg," he growled as the rage came churning to the surface. "Just -- don't." 

Blair immediately backed away, hands raised before him. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I promised myself I wasn't going to go there." He shook his head in frustration, then ran one hand through his long curls, fingers raking the snarls clear. "Change of subject?" 

There was no response and at first Blair thought Jim hadn't heard him. The tension in the other man's form, and the tight stance he held seemed to indicate he was still lost in thought over Blair's last comment. 

"Jim? Subject change, okay? Can you talk to me a minute?" 

Jim turned slowly. His eyes were hard and cold and he kept his distance as he looked at the anthropologist. "What?" 

"Adam's bringing Marie and the baby home today. They want us to come over tonight. You wanna?" 

Jim relaxed, the tension slowly seeping from his form. "I'd like to see the baby," he said, nodding, "but I don't know what time I'll be finished for the day. 

"How's seven-ish? I'm covering Frank Dorson's four o'clock class and it's a lab, so I'll be six at the earliest getting out of there." He looked at the Sentinel. "You wanna pick me up on campus and we can go together?" 

Jim shook his head. "I don't think so, Chief. I've got a lot to do today and I'm not sure I'll be done by then." 

"But you are coming, right?" Blair watched as the tension built again in the older man, and he could see the internal struggle to control it. 

"I'll try," Jim said shortly. "That's the best I can do." 

"I told them we'd bring dinner. Chinese." Please say you'll come, Jim. Please say you'll be there. 

Jim started for the front door. "I'll do the best I can, but don't wait on me," he said as he disappeared into the hall. 

* * *

He finished the rest of his statement without incident. That was one point in his favor. Simon had been tense throughout, his heart rate fast and his skin slightly flushed, both reactions that were visible only to Jim's heightened Sentinel sense. The Captain had breathed a sigh of relief when it was over and Jim felt the familiar pang of shame that seemed to haunt his every waking moment now. He wanted to apologize, to say something, but he wasn't sure he could control himself if Simon started to push him on his behavior of late. So he walked out without a word and missed the look of frustrated concern on his Captain's face. 

He headed out to his desk, whispering, "Focus on the case," to himself as he moved. He sat at his desk and lifted the small stack of phone memos, paging through them quickly. There was one from Wetumpka, Alabama -- the town Andre Tucker had returned home to. Why would Royce Jessup, Tucker's boss and the man who had vouched for his regular attendance at work, be calling him? He picked up the phone and dialed quickly. 

"Jessup Furniture." 

"Royce Jessup, please. This is Detective Jim Ellison of the Cascade Police Department returning his call." 

"Just a minute, Sir." Despite himself, Jim had to smile. It sounded like "Jussa minute, Suh." 

"Detective Ellison?" The voice was deep and had the same southern rhythms as the woman who had answered the phone. 

"You called me, Mr. Jessup? Is this about Andre Tucker?" 

"You know, Detective, Andre is my wife's sister's husband's second cousin's boy. Family." 

Jim's head was already reeling as he tried to figure out the family connection. He wrote it on a notepad. Wife's sister's husband's second cousin's boy. He shook his head. In most parts of the world, that was an acquaintance. Apparently in Alabama, that was family. "Has something happened?" 

"Yes," the man sounded annoyed, as if Jim were behaving in a particularly slow-witted way. "The boy is dead." 

Jim grinned again, unconsciously as he thought of Tucker, a man his own age, being referred to as a 'boy.' And then the reality of Jessup's words sunk in. Tucker was dead. Jim's voice was clipped as he asked, "How?" 

"That's why Ah'm callin' you, Detective. The po-lice say Andre killed himself, but I know that ain't so." 

"Why do the police think Andre killed himself?" 

"He was hung. Hung out in the barn on my nephew's wife's uncle's place." 

Again, Jim jotted on his pad. Nephew's wife's uncle. "Is this your wife's sister's son?" he asked, still trying to get the relationships straight. 

"No," replied Jessup. "My sister's son." 

"Why was Tucker at the barn on ..." Jim looked at the pad again, "your nephew's wife's uncle's place?" 

"He was staying there, of course. With family. While he got back on his feet." 

Jim shook his head again. "You know, Mr. Jessup, it's not unusual for someone who has been incarcerated to have difficulty adjusting to life outside. They get depressed, feel they don't fit in. Suicides do happen." 

"Not with this boy. Haven't you heard a word I been saying. This boy had _family._ People who cared for him. I gave him a job and he was doing right good. Went on back to church and even met up with a right nice young woman. Andre was getting his life straight." Jessup paused as if considering the man he called family. "He wouldn't have killed himself." 

Jim sighed. "What do you think I can do about it, Mr. Jessup?" 

"Well, suh, you seemed to be right interested in Andre. Figured you might know something about the troubles." 

"The troubles?" Jim's head began to spin again. 

"Yes, suh. The troubles what landed that boy in jail to begin with. Ah figured this boy dying all sudden like this -- well, it might be related to the troubles." 

"Do you have any contacts with the local police, Sir?" 

"My son's wife's sister's husband is a deputy with the county. Would that help?" 

Jim wrote again. Son's wife's sister's husband. Deputy. "Possibly. If he can get a police report on the death, and fax it to me, I'll take a look." He dropped his note in the folder labeled Tucker and closed it. "That's the best I can do." 

Jessup thanked him and he gave the man -- Tucker's mother or father's second cousin's wife's sister's husband -- the fax number. He hung up shaking his head yet again. He couldn't believe he'd actually worked out the relationship. 

He smiled to himself as he worked. This felt good. It felt right. He wasn't raging out of control, he wasn't thinking about ... his mind skittered away from the thought and he forced himself back to the case. This was what he needed. He needed to work. He needed to be a cop. He needed to find Anderson and figure out what the hell was going on. As long as he could focus on that, he would be okay. 

As he waited for the information on Tucker, he pulled the file on Mitchell and Anderson and began to read. He needed to make some calls to Mitchell's family -- see if he could find the man. If Tucker really hadn't committed suicide, then there was a good chance Mitchell was involved in his death. And if he wasn't, then Mitchell could be the next target. 

* * *

It was 7:10. He'd been here, sitting in his car with the food getting cold, for twenty minutes. He was hoping Jim would show up. The blinds moved for the third time as he looked at the apartment again, and he decided he should go on in. Hands full of paper bags, he scrambled out of the car and headed up the walk to the Degnan's new home. A quick rap with his elbow brought Adam to the door. 

"No Jim?" Adam asked as he reached out to help with the bags. 

Blair shook his head. "Sorry, man. I know he really wanted to see the baby." 

"It's all right, Blair," Marie called from the couch where she sat with the newborn. "We're glad you decided to come in. I was afraid you were going to freeze waiting out there." 

Sandburg shivered as he shed his coat and passed it to Adam. " 's cold all right." He looked back toward the door. "I was just hoping he'd show." 

"I'm sure he's got a lot on his mind right now. A lot of things he's dealing with." The baby mewed softly and Marie shifted her to a shoulder and began to jiggle her softly. She watched Blair carefully as she spoke and noticed the flush that crept across his face at her words. 

"Did he say what he was doing?" Adam asked from the small kitchenette. He was busy laying out plates and scooping food onto them. He looked up at Marie. "I'm just gonna put a little of everything on for you, then heat it in the microwave, okay babe?" 

"Nothing spicy," Marie cautioned, tapping the baby gently. "I don't think her royal highness will take too well to spicy foods." 

"Wow," Blair said as he rose to go help Adam, "that eating for two thing just keeps on, doesn't it?" 

"It's worth it," Marie said with a smile as she tilted her head and inhaled the scent of her baby's neck. "She's wonderful!" 

The microwave beeped and Blair took the plate Adam held out and carried it to Marie. She moved the baby to the crook of her arm, took her plate, and then passed the baby to Blair who found himself holding the tiny little bundle without even realizing he was accepting her. "Oh, man!" He looked down in awe at the wriggling warm mass in his arms, and grinned as the little one yawned. "She's like, so small!" 

Adam appeared with two more plates, setting them on the coffee table. He reached out to take the baby, saying, "Here. Let me. I'll put her in her crib." 

Blair shook his head. "No way, man. You guys eat. I'll just hold the princess here. She's -- incredible!" He looked up at the couple. "Jim is gonna be so sorry he missed this. What'd you name her?" 

Adam looked at Marie, then shrugged. "We haven't decided. Marie wants to wait a bit -- get to know her." 

"That's so cool, Marie," Blair enthused. "The naming ceremony is sacred to so many Native American tribes. In many of their traditions, the child's name is determined by a respected elder. Sometimes, it can take months for the elder to come up with a name. And among the hill people of Vietnam, a child is frequently not named until he or she is two or three years old -- to protect from evil spirits. And in Africa ..." 

"Whoa!" Adam held up his hands. "Anthropology, right? Didn't you say you were an anthropology student?" 

Blair laughed. "Yeah, well, that's like the official title. But I'm really a student of the world." He looked down at the baby again and cooed softly to her. "Whatever the reason, I think it is totally cool that you want to get to know her before you name her. Names are just really powerful things -- in any culture." 

Marie finished her dinner and rose. She grabbed Blair's plate on her way back to the kitchen. "I'm just going to heat this back up for you, and I'll take our little lady now and put her to bed." She popped the plate in the microwave, hit the timer and returned to scoop the sleeping baby from Blair's arms. "Then I want to talk about another one of your study projects -- Jim Ellison." 

Blair swallowed hard but nodded and when Marie returned from laying the baby down, he accepted his reheated dinner and began to eat. 

"How is he?" Marie asked as she sat next to her husband on the couch. "I've been worried about him." 

"Marie," Blair began tentatively, "can you tell me what happened when Anderson had you two?" 

She dropped her eyes and even Adam looked at her strangely. 

"Marie ..." he prompted, "did something happen?" 

She looked up, first at Adam, then at Blair. "Didn't you read my statement?" 

"Yeah, I read it." Blair looked uncomfortable. "And I was there when Jim gave his." 

"And what did Jim say?" 

Blair rose and began to pace. "It's not what he said. It's what he didn't say that's causing the problems." He stopped and stared at Marie. "You know, don't you?" 

She shrugged. "I have strong suspicions. Anderson took him, instead of me. But when he came back, his arm was so badly injured and I was in labor. Then the baby arrived and then you and the police got there and everything else just happened so fast ..." 

"What?" Adam was totally confused. "What the hell happened that I'm missing." 

Marie shook her head and snuggled closer to her husband, kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs beneath her. "It's not for me to say," she said finally. "Or for you," she cautioned Blair. 

"I don't think silence is going to work." Blair began to move again, one hand running through his hair. "You haven't seen him. He's angry -- violent even." He touched his cheek without thinking. 

"Ellison hit you?" Degnan's voice was outraged. 

Blair shook his head. "Didn't mean to. He was dreaming." 

"So what is he doing tonight?" Degnan asking, struggling to break the rising tension in the room. 

"Working on the case. I called the station before my class, and Simon said he'd gotten something on Tucker, the guy who went to Alabama. Jim was looking into it, and trying to run down Mitchell as well." 

"None of which explains where he is tonight," Adam said plainly. 

Blair apologized again. "He's just so not himself right now. Not even Simon knows for sure where he is, and to be honest, none of us feel really sure that pushing him on anything is the right thing to do." Blair rubbed his neck. "He just keeps blowing up. I've got to figure out how to help him." 

"You can't help someone who doesn't want your help, Blair," Marie said quietly. "When he's ready, he'll come to you." 

"What if he's never ready? What if this hangs there forever?" 

"No." She shook her head. "It won't." 

Blair's eyes were pained as he met her gaze. "What if it isn't me he turns to?" 

"Blair," she chided gently, "who else would he go to?" 

**PART EIGHT**

It was after 10:00 when he pulled up outside the Degnan's apartment. He still wasn't sure why he had even come. He was too uncomfortable to consider going in, despite the invitation he'd been given. Sandburg's car was still outside so at least his visit had gone well. Or was going well. Jim thought back to the moment the red-faced, wrinkled little mass of life had made her appearance, dropping right into his one good hand and scaring the daylights out of him. He really wanted to see what she looked like all cleaned up and sweet-smelling. 

He was tempted to go in anyway, just for a minute, and take a quick peek. See Marie and assure himself that she really had emerged unscathed from the whole incident with Anderson. Jim tensed; the mere thought of the man's name turned his stomach and the rage began to rise. As much as he wanted to go in and see Marie and the baby, he didn't want to risk another burst of his uncontrolled anger. 

He looked longingly over at the window. Three days ago he'd have been in there -- part of the group, belonging. He'd be laughing with friends, fussing over the new baby, enjoying himself. And now -- he clenched his teeth -- now everything had changed. Anderson had changed it all. He'd done so much more than just physically assault him. Jim shook his head at himself. Even here, in the privacy of his mind, he shied away from the word rape. Assault just sounded so much -- cleaner. And when Anderson had assaulted him, it wasn't just a physical injury. There were so many more injuries that Jim couldn't begin to count. Didn't want to count. Couldn't bear to think about counting. His self-confidence. His self-assurance. His trust in himself to make the right decision. His ability to protect others. Hell, if he couldn't even protect himself, what could he possibly do for anyone else? His sense of worth. His image of himself. His manhood. It had been less than 72 hours since the assault, but Jim couldn't imagine ever thinking of sex again. And if that didn't constitute an injury -- what did? 

He stretched out his hearing slightly, heard Blair laugh and then coo at the baby. He wanted to go in. He was still listening to the baby, focused on the little snuffles and whuffs she made as she breathed, the soft rustling her little arms made as they waved in the air, the crinkly sound of her diaper against the blanket she was wrapped in. He was in awe. He'd never realized how totally enchanting a baby could be. 

The baby mewed -- that was the only word for it -- and he heard Marie take her and lift her to a breast. He was pulling back, giving mother and child their privacy when he heard something else. Something that didn't belong. He listened again, wishing Sandburg were out here instead of in there, so he could safely reach out and listen fully. He began to focus -- tuning out the heartbeats in the other apartments, inside the Degnan's apartment, his own, until he was left with just one. A familiar beat. 

He pulled back like he'd been burned. He knew that heart. He'd listened to it -- counted it for six hundred and seventy three seconds -- felt it race and then slow as Anderson had ... Jim closed his eyes, refusing to be drawn into that black place again. Anderson was here -- he had to find him. Rage surged up in him and he sprang lightly from the car, zeroed in on his target. He moved silently around to the side of the building, focused on Anderson who still did not move. What was the man waiting for? For Blair to leave? For Adam and his family to be alone? 

He sniffed the air. Anderson's scent wafted on the breeze, mingling with cheap whiskey and cigarettes. A quick peek around the corner showed the man standing by the back hallway entrance, smoking. The red tip of the cigarette shone like a day-glo target, and without another sound, another thought, Jim roared and launched himself forward. He ran straight at the man, catching him totally unawares and tackling him to the ground. The air was filled with the sound of maddened howling, and bones breaking. His casted left arm pushed hard against Anderson's throat as he straddled the man's torso. His right fist rose and fell, rose and fell, slowly turning the man's face to pulp. 

He heard his name, an inconsequential buzzing sound that fluttered around him and pushed the bothersome intrusion away. There were hands pushing him, a familiar body pressed against his side, but he had no time for any of it -- that could come later. Anderson was here. If he could just take care of Anderson, the rest of it would go away. He could make it all go away. 

He lifted his left arm and brought it down, not even aware that the cast cracked until the pain of his broken bone jarring at his movement slowed his crazed attack. Sound and vision returned to normal and he heard Blair screaming for him to stop, felt him plucking futilely at this shirt as he tried to unseat him from the unconscious man he knelt above. 

"Sandburg?" he croaked, looking up into worried blue eyes. 

"Yeah, Jim, man, it's okay." His Guide reached down again and slowly pulled him to his feet. There was blood on Sandburg's face and his shirt was torn in several places. 

He looked over at the hallway and saw Degnan on the phone. He finished his call, closed the phone and reported, "I called your Captain like you said, Blair. He's sending a car and he's on his way as well." 

Jim looked down at the bloody heap that was Anderson, not knowing if he should be relieved or disappointed when the man's chest rose and fell with steady breaths. "Anderson needs medical attention." 

Degnan nodded. "Your Captain said he was sending the EMTs as well." He cocked his head as he looked at Jim and Blair. "For some reason, he seemed to feel if you two were involved, there'd be a need for medical services." 

Jim laughed hoarsely. "Guess he knows us pretty well, eh, Chief?" 

Blair was examining the cracked cast as he held Jim's arm as still as possible. "Better plan on going with the ambulance, Jim," he said. "You need to get this arm looked at again." 

Ellison shook his head. "No ambulance." He reached out and wiped blood from Blair's face, then pulled the man's shirt closed as he began to shiver. "Adam," he called, his eyes never leaving his Guide's face, "can you bring out Blair's jacket? He's cold." 

Degnan nodded, ran into the apartment and was back in a minute. He passed the jacket to Jim, then said, "I need to be with Marie. She won't bring the baby out, but she wants to tell you thank you." 

He watched as Jim helped Blair into his coat, fussing softly at the younger man to do up the buttons, then extended his hand. "I want to thank you, too. I have no idea how you knew he was here, but I'm sure it wouldn't have been pretty if you hadn't caught him." 

Jim shook the other man's hand, nodding. 

"I owe you my life again, Ellison," Degnan said. "And my family's lives. That's a debt I can never repay." 

Jim studied Degnan for a moment, then asked, "Do you know where the weapons are, Adam?" 

The man shook his head. "I heard Holcombe and Jenkins talking about it -- that was when I turned them in. But I never knew what they did with them, or who their contact was." 

Jim nodded. "We're going to have to talk about this some more. There may be more you know and you don't even realize it. Names, people you saw, places they talked about." He turned back to Blair, using his thumb to wipe a trickle of blood from his forehead. "Go on in to your wife, Adam. We can do all that tomorrow." 

The man left and it was just Jim and Blair, waiting for the police and ambulance to arrive. "You going to give the EMTs a hard time, Jim?" Blair asked as he reached out and lifted Jim's casted arm. He cradled the weight in his hands, then pressed the injured limb against the other man's chest. "You gotta keep it still, man. I know it hurts." 

"I just want to go home, Blair," Jim said wearily. 

The sirens wailed in the distance and as they listened, they grew closer. Within moments, the back of the apartment was swarming with cops and EMTs and then Simon was there as well. Jim gave a brief statement, allowed a paramedic to secure his arm in a sling, and then stepped away. A second EMT was cleaning the cut on Blair's face, wiping away the blood and bandaging the wound. 

Simon watched critically. "How the hell did you get hit, Sandburg?" he asked. 

Jim dropped his head. "I did it." He nodded at the gurney that held Anderson's unconscious form. "I was going to kill him, and Sandburg tried to stop me. I hit him." 

"That so, Sandburg?" Simon asked, his eyes narrowed in concentration. 

Blair shook his head. "I don't know, Simon. I suppose it's possible. I just saw Jim fighting with Anderson and I jumped in." He shrugged again. "I don't know who hit me." 

"That what really happened?" Simon watched the two men closely. 

"No," said Jim. 

"Yes," Blair replied at the same time. 

Simon sighed. "We'll sort it out tomorrow." He looked pointedly at Jim's arm. "Go get that looked at, then get some rest. I want to see you first thing in the morning." 

A paramedic reached out and touched him lightly. "If you'll just come with us, Detective, we'll get you to the hospital and they'll fix you up in no time." 

Blair's lowered his eyes, staring at the ground. "I'll pick you up at the hospital," he murmured as he began to trudge to his car. 

"I don't think so, Chief," Jim said. He waited until his partner turned to look at him, question in his eyes. "I'm coming with you." He strode over to the younger man, threw an arm over his shoulder and gently tugged him into motion. "You'd think these idiots would know I don't ride in ambulances by now." 

Blair couldn't hide the grin that blossomed on his face. "Yeah, well, if I have to take you to the hospital, we're going in your truck." 

"Damn straight we are. I'm not riding in that piece of junk you call a car." 

"And I'm driving." 

"Like hell you are. My truck. I drive." 

"But you're hurt. You shouldn't be driving." 

"I'm not the one with a head wound, Chief. I think I can drive just fine." 

The voices faded as the men turned the corner of the building and disappeared from sight. Simon smiled. 

Things were looking up at last. 

* * *

"You need help?" Blair asked cautiously. It had been a tense drive home. Angry Jim was back and Blair couldn't figure out what had set him off. Maybe just being in the hospital again -- seeing the same ER doctor from two days ago. The man had to know what had happened to Jim. Maybe he had pushed Jim again to report the rape. 

"I think I can figure out how to shower by myself, Sandburg," Jim said sarcastically. "I've only been doing it since I was four. But I assure you, if I run into any problems, you'll be the first to know." 

Blair bit down a caustic remark of his own, counseling himself to patience. He pulled out a couple of the bran muffins he'd gotten, then opened the freezer and got out the special fruit paste he'd made that afternoon. It was an old folk remedy -- a cure for constipation. Figs, prunes, raisins, and senna tea. The senna was a natural laxative. The bran would increase Jim's fiber, helping keep his stool soft. 

And all of it appearing on the table for a late night snack would make it perfectly clear to Jim that Blair knew what had happened. 

He braced himself; odds were, his next discussion with his Sentinel wasn't going to be pleasant. 

The shower turned off and Jim appeared. His sweatpants hung low on his hips and Blair watched as he struggled into a gray T-shirt. Bare feet padded softly across the hardwood floor as Jim entered the kitchen and sank down wearily into a chair. He seemed calm enough at the moment. 

"That tea, Chief?" 

Blair nodded, pouring out a cup and passing it over. 

"Chamomile? For sleeping, right?" Jim took a sip and made a slight face. "Tastes different." 

"Well, the chamomile is a soother, you're right there, Jim. But this is not chamomile. This is senna." Blair took the muffins out of the microwave and smeared one with the fruit paste, passing it to his partner. 

"Senna? What's that for?" Jim looked at the muffin in his hand. "And what is this?" 

"Bran muffin with fruit paste." 

"Bran?" Jim dropped the muffin and narrowed his eyes as he stared at Blair. "What's senna for, Chief?" he asked coldly. 

"It's a natural laxative, Jim. The bran and the fruit promote soft stool." Blair kept his voice as calm andnon-emotional as possible. 

Jim's body went rigid. "And just why would you assume that was something I need?" 

Blair walked to the counter and produced Jim's underwear, the stain of blood still visible in the crotch. "You didn't report everything that happened when you were with Anderson, did you, Jim?" 

Ellison rose, kicking the chair over in the process. It slammed to the floor with a loud crash and he winced as his hearing threatened to spike. Fury flooded through him. "You don't know what you're talking about!" he hissed, backing away from his Guide. He had an overwhelming desire to just start hitting something -- or someone -- and never stop. The violence in him terrified him. 

He looked back at Blair. The anthropologist was moving toward him slowly. "Stay away from me, Blair," he warned. 

"Jim," Blair spoke soothingly, "try to think of this like a sensory spike. Instead of your hearing or your vision, it's your emotions that are spiking." He took another step forward. 

"I'm warning you, Sandburg, back off!" Jim was crouched by the door to the balcony, hands fisted, face flushed as he struggled not to lose control. 

"You need to talk about this, Jim." 

"Leave me the fuck alone!" The words were ripped from Jim's throat, an anguished cry that echoed in the loft. 

"Focus on me, Jim. Listen to me." Blair edged forward again. "It wasn't your fault." 

"It's none of your business, Sandburg." 

"I'm your Guide, Jim. Your friend. You were hurt. Of course it's my business." 

"I can't talk about this, Blair." Jim choked back a sob. "Please don't make me talk about this." 

Jim's pain was tangible and Blair wanted nothing more than to back down, to let it go, to let Jim keep running if the running would end his torment -- even for a little while. But it didn't. The memories just kept rearing up -- different times, different places. Hell, he was willing to bet Jim didn't have a clue what triggered his rages. 

"You have to talk about it, Jim." Blair paused, not moving. "If not to me, then to someone." He lifted a hand and pushed at his hair. "You can't go on like this." 

"I just need some time." Jim shifted from the awkward crouch, to a full sit on the floor. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his chin rested on them. "It's only been a couple of days." 

"And look at what's happened in those two days." Blair pushed on relentlessly. "You hit me. You attacked Rafe. You threw over a chair and stormed out of Simon's office. You nearly killed a suspect." He blew out hard. "You don't have time, Jim. If you don't start dealing with this -- you're going to hurt someone seriously. Or you're going to hurt yourself." 

"You don't know how I feel ..." The words trailed away into a tense silence. 

Blair took one step closer. "Tell me." 

"Like I'm useless. Like I have nothing to give to anyone. Like he took something from me - something I can never get back. My confidence. My strength. Who I am." 

"He did take something from you, Jim, and you're right, you can't ever get it back." Blair inched forward again. "But it wasn't anything that makes you who you are. Your abilities, your strength, your personality -- he didn't touch those things. Your sense of justice, your commitment to protect the innocent, your knowledge of who you are -- he could never touch those things." 

Jim closed his eyes, his good hand came up and covered them for a moment, then he dragged it down to press against his mouth, before wrapping the arm around his knees again. "I feel lost -- like everything's spinning out of control." 

"Then focus on me, Jim. Just on me." Blair took the last few steps forward and dropped to his knees before the Sentinel. He reached out one hand, laying it tentatively upon Jim's arm. "When you feel lost, listen for me. When thing's spin out of control, hold on to me." He tightened his grip and was rewarded when Jim's arm twisted in his grasp, and he found his own arm being clung to by his partner. 

"I can't think about it, Chief," Jim whispered. "I try to, and my mind just runs from it. I can't even think the word, let alone say it." He gave a bitter laugh. "I keep telling myself I was assaulted." 

"You were raped, Jim. Raped. Anderson took you from your home -- a place you have every right to expect to be safe in -- and he tried to destroy something vital in you." Blair stared at Jim, forcing him to meet his eyes. "He _tried_ to destroy something, but he didn't succeed. You survived, Jim. And you not only survived, you saved two other lives." He slipped forward again, turning to sit beside the older man. "Anderson raped you, Jim, but he _never_ defeated you." 

"I wanted to kill him tonight." Jim shuddered as the memory of the killing rage swept over him again. 

"I know." 

"You shouldn't have jumped in like that. I could have really hurt you." Jim released his grip on Blair's arm and gently pushed back the long hair to touch the stark white bandage that adorned the Guide's forehead. 

"I wasn't going to let Anderson take anything else from you. If you had killed him, it could have meant the end of your career. I wasn't going to let that bastard do that." 

Jim smiled. "My hero." 

Blair grinned back and rose, pulling the Sentinel up with him. "Damn straight," he replied, "and don't you forget it." 

Jim stood still, looking at his friend. "Seriously, Chief, you saved me tonight." 

"You saved yourself, Jim. I just nudged you in the right direction." 

"Gonna keep nudging?" 

Blair nodded. "This isn't going to go away because you talked about it one time, Jim. It's going to take time. You may need some help." 

Jim shrugged. "I've got help." He moved to the table and nibbled at his muffin. "I've got you." 

"Always. You know that." Blair joined him by the table. "I just may not be enough." He took the mug of tea and placed it in the microwave, pushing the button to reheat it. "You may need someone professional." 

"There isn't someone professional who can help me, Blair." Jim tilted his head to one side as he looked at his Guide. "You know that. There's too much I can't talk about." 

Blair nodded slowly, then pulled the mug from the oven and handed it to Jim. "Just know that you're bound to have more times when you feel out of control, when you feel lost. You suffered a serious trauma, Jim. Physically and psychologically. You don't get over it with one good talk." 

Jim sipped slowly, then looked up at Blair. "So, in addition to the bran muffins, senna tea, and fruit crap, I guess I have any number of these enlightening little moments to look forward to." 

Blair laughed. "You've got to _process_ it, man. Channel the negative energy out." 

"Yeah, well, while I'm _processing,_ how do I keep from smacking the people I care about?" 

"Hey, your dietary needs are about the only thing I've got a firm grip on right now." He shrugged and broke off a piece of muffin, popping it into his mouth. "The rest we figure out as we go." 

**PART NINE**

"Jim!" Marie opened the door, the baby nestled against her shoulder. "I wasn't expecting you!" 

Ellison dropped his head. "I'm sorry. I should have called first." 

"Nonsense!" Strong hands reached out to him and he was pleased to see he didn't flinch as she grabbed his arm and pulled him in. "Come into the living room," she said as she led the way. "Can I get you a drink? Tea? Juice? Water?" she offered as she looked inside the refrigerator. 

"Juice is fine," Jim responded. He watched as she deftly pulled out the juice, opened a cabinet and took out glasses, then poured -- all with one hand. The other hand still held the baby pressed against her. "You're good at that," he commented. 

"Hmmmm? Good at what?" she asked as she returned the juice to the fridge. 

"The whole one-handed thing." He raised his left arm triumphantly. "I didn't realize how much I used my left hand until I didn't have it." 

She handed him a glass, then went back for her own and joined him on the couch. "When did the cast come off?" 

"Two days ago." He stretched the arm out again. "It was wonderful. The cast was heavy, it was hot, it itched, and it was beginning to reek." 

"Arm's okay now?" she asked as she laid the baby on her lap and fiddled with the receiving blanket. 

"Oh, yeah. Full recovery." He flexed it again and frowned. "Well, maybe not at full strength yet, but it's getting there." 

"And what about you, Jim Ellison?" She stared at him over the rim of her glass. "Are you getting there, too?" 

Jim flushed, and though his mind wanted him to play dumb and pretend he didn't understand, he was grateful that at least he wasn't overwhelmed with uncontrollable rage at her question. "I'm working on it." He paused, studying the empty glass before he set it on the table. "I got Anderson, and that helped." 

"And you've got Blair." 

Jim smiled. "And I've got Blair." The baby squirmed in her mother's lap and Jim watched her quietly, focusing on the little heartbeat, the tiny little breaths -- in and out -- the miniscule sounds she made as she turned her head, waved an arm, wriggled inside her blanket. The scent of clean baby -- lotion and powder and brand new baby -- perfumed the air here, and he drank it in greedily. The child was just as enchanting in her mother's lap as she'd been in her mother's womb. He listened some more, losing himself in the miracle of this new life, and had no idea how long it was until he heard his name. 

"Jim?" 

He looked up slowly, blinking to clear his eyes. 

"Are you all right?" 

He nodded once, then tilted his head toward the baby. "She's -- amazing." 

"We like to think so." Marie smiled at the baby, then lifted her and placed her in Jim's arms. She tugged one arm down, then pushed on the other until the baby was firmly seated. "There," she said, as Jim looked down at the baby. "You look at her the way Adam does -- like she's a miracle." 

Jim nodded, fighting to hold back the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. "She is." 

"You gave us that miracle. What you did. What you were willing to do -- to go through. For me. And for her." She waited until he lifted his eyes to look at her. "There are no words to say thank you." 

Jim touched the baby's satiny cheek, watched as she turned her head in natural response to the motion and her little mouth began to seek a nipple. "This is thanks enough." He cleared his throat and looked up again. "Adam at work?" 

Marie nodded. "It's good for him to have a work routine again, and he likes it." She tilted her head and studied Jim. "He likes not having to worry about us anymore even better. You saved us twice, you know. If you hadn't caught Anderson that night, who knows what he would have done." 

"He's going away for the rest of his life now. You don't have to worry about him again." 

"And what about you, Jim?" Her words were soft. "Do I have to worry about you?" 

The baby began to wave one arm, and without thinking, he offered her his pinky. She captured it tight in a tiny little fist, wide brown eyes staring up at him. "No," he said at last. "You don't have to worry about me." He looked up and met her eyes. "I'm going to be all right." The baby made a fussy sound, and Jim lifted her, settling her against his shoulder. From this position, he could bury his nose in her neck, sniffing the intoxicating baby scent found there. "Have you named her yet? Sandburg said you were waiting to get to know her." Jim shook his head at the unconventionality of it. 

Marie laughed. "Not yet. But I think it's about time." She looked at Jim. "Has Blair ever talked to you about the power of names?" 

Jim shook his head. "Not that I remember, but I'm sure it's come up in something he's gone on about. Tribal customs, naming rituals, something. That kind of thing would be right up his alley." 

"Do you know what your name means, Jim?" 

He shook his head. 

"James -- it means supplanter. One who takes the place of another." 

There was a long silence as the power of the name stretched between them, then Marie reached out and took the baby. She held her loosely in her lap, then reached out and took Jim's hand, placing it gently on the baby's belly. "And this little one," Marie said fondly as she gazed at her daughter, "she is just enchanting. She enchanted us all." 

"She certainly did me," Jim said softly as he offered the infant his finger again. 

"Then we shall call her Sidonie. It means 'enchanter.'" 

"I like it," Jim said with a smile. "It fits her." 

"I want her to have something of yours, too, Jim." 

"Please don't say you're calling her James," he said with a crooked grin. 

"No, not James," Marie said. 

"Not Jamie?" Jim looked up in horror. "Sidonie Jamie?" He groaned. "Please, don't do that to her." 

"No, not Jamie either." 

"Well, I know you aren't calling her Ellison, so what's left?" 

"Blair." 

"Blair?" 

Marie nodded. 

"Something of mine?" 

Marie nodded again, waiting. 

At length, Jim nodded. "Sidonie Blair. I like it." He smiled again and tickled the baby under her chin. "He'll be so pleased." Jim looked up. "And just for the record, what _does_ Blair mean? I'm sure you know." 

"It's a field or a plain. It's Celtic." 

"That's it? A field or a plain?" 

Marie laughed. "It's fitting, though, don't you think? Blair is so -- connected -- to the earth, in tune with the world. I think it's perfect for him." 

"And for her?" 

"For her too. She's an enchantress who weaves her magic around us all, but I want her grounded in the earth as well. A realist who knows how to dream." 

"It's beautiful, Marie. I'm honored to be part of it." 

"You are what made it all possible. She wouldn't be here without you, James Ellison. Don't you ever, ever forget that." She reached out and took his hand, staring hard into his eyes. "When you struggle with what Anderson did, when you have doubts and you feel the rage, you remember us. Remember her." She took his hand and placed it gently over the baby's heart. "You remember this, Jim. Always remember that this little heart still beats because of you and your sacrifice. This tiny miracle exists because of what you did. This beautiful, enchanting, magical person is here today -- because of you. Can you remember that, Jim? Will you remember?" 

He nodded slowly, his eyes bright with unshed tears. 

Soft silence stretched between them and then she asked, "Are you all right, Jim?" 

And this time, when he answered, he really and truly meant it. 

"I will be." 

End 

* * *

End Past Tense by Daydreamer: daydream59@aol.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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